


That Missing Something

by xenadragon_xoxo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bonding, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-10-12
Packaged: 2017-12-28 08:58:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 55,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/990164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenadragon_xoxo/pseuds/xenadragon_xoxo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On two different sides of London, living their own lives and finally experiencing peace and even some happiness, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy begin to feel a little…empty. It's manageable at first, but after the emptiness come odd emotions striking at odd times, jeopardising work and friendships, and after odd emotions come urges and longings for something they can't find. Unable to find the piece they're missing and clueless as to what's making them this way, Harry and Draco experiment with different ways to solve their issues – but what if it's all connected?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bonding!fic written for the H/D Tropes exchange. None of the potions/books/characters/spells in this fic are original – they all exist in the Harry Potter universe.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: EWE, one mention of past Harry/Ginny, a mention of past Ron/Hermione (they are just friends here).
> 
> Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I wouldn't be writing this, now, would I?

Something was missing.

Harry couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was no denying it. He felt empty, as if a small piece of him had been removed, and he couldn't quite figure out where it had gone, or which piece it even was. It was as if a void had settled in his very being, and was sucking up his soul, or some nonsense like that.

It wasn't as if anything was wrong with his life. He had helped rebuild Hogwarts over the past year since the Second Wizarding War, and he was currently undergoing Auror training with his best friend and partner-in-crime, Ron – he and all those who fought in the Battle of Hogwarts had been allowed to attempt careers as Aurors without going through N.E.W.T.s, although Hermione had insisted on returning to Hogwarts to complete her education. He was surrounded by incredible friends, he had played his part well for the Wizarding world, and his scar hadn't hurt in a year. By right, he should be ecstatic.

But still, something was missing, and Harry Potter couldn't quite figure it out.

Maybe it was the fact that he didn't have a significant other, but Harry wasn't really searching for one right now. He was _eighteen,_ for Merlin's sake. He had plenty of time for that later on in life.

After the War, Ginny had found love in a decent wizard's arms, and frankly, Harry was happy for her. He recognized, now, that his crush on Ginny had been nothing more than that – a crush. He hadn't been significantly interested in anyone else since then, and he wasn't keen to look around too hard. He would rather kick start his career before getting tangled in any more complicated relationships.

"Harry, mate!"

Harry was awoken from his thoughts by the sound of Ron beckoning to him.

"Blimey, which dimension were you in?" he questioned. "We've got Stealth and Tracking in less than five minutes, and you still haven't finished your lunch."

Harry glanced down at his food – a plate of chicken pie – and realized that he had, indeed, only taken a few mouthfuls. He had started to lose his appetite ever since this whole "something's missing" thing started, and he wasn't certain how he felt about that yet.

"Right, sorry," Harry said quickly, wolfing a large slice down in what was probably a near-perfect, accurate impersonation of Ron. Perhaps a little _too_ accurate, as Neville, sitting a little to Harry's left, gave him a disgusted look over his cup of tea. "We can go now."

Ron wrinkled his nose. "Such a waste," he noted as Harry stood up, leaving the rest of his pie behind.

Neville shook his head, an exasperated I-wonder-why-I'm-friends-with-these-people expression on his face as he paced alongside them. He didn't look too excited, Harry noticed. Neville might be fantastic at duelling now, but he was pure rubbish at anything that even remotely involved stealth. Several times, he reminded Harry a little bit of Tonks, who was missed daily.

Harry had known for a few years that he'd be an Auror. Despite what Umbridge and Luna had said, he knew it was the right job for someone with such an in-suppressible hero complex. But that was the only thing he had really known – everything else that occurred following the War was completely unexpected.

The simple fact was that things hadn't worked out exactly how most people might have planned. First of all, Ron and Hermione's relationship had been short-lived – Hermione was too focused on her studies and could barely stand Ron's peculiar habits, and Ron got annoyed with Hermione's nagging pretty quickly. They had broken it off a few months after the War, but Harry was immensely grateful to see that they had remained good friends, and had easily fallen back into their old routine of bantering without too many strings attached.

Also, Harry was no longer the Ministry's poster boy – far from it. Instead, he was considered overrated. Now that he was no longer needed, it seemed that several of the senior Ministry officials believed that his success was nothing but a stroke of dumb luck, and that despite all that he had done, he still shouldn't be allowed such easy access into Auror training. Kingsley Shacklebolt, the new Minister For Magic, didn't pay them any heed, but it still bothered Harry a little that all his services had come to naught. Sure, he was still worshipped by majority of the younger crowd, but it was the old-school officials' approval that would earn him positions and promotions.

There were many things that were different about his life and the lives of those around him –nothing was how he had envisioned it to be. Especially this odd emptiness resting inside him which he couldn't quite fill.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

He had misplaced something.

That was what it felt like to Draco – like an important piece of himself had been misplaced, lost, hidden from his sight, and he was powerless to figure out what it was. Draco wasn't unused to feeling a little out of place, but this genuinely felt as if a rather large, gaping hole was planted somewhere in his heart. He didn't like it, and worst of all, he couldn't figure out why it was there.

Draco Malfoy didn't like being powerless. Nor did he like not getting his way.

It wasn't as if he hadn't gotten his way for the past year or so. His family had escaped an Azkaban sentence due to their last-minute switch in alliance, although his father and mother were under house arrest, which was why Draco had been living alone in Muggle London for majority of the year. Draco had only been overlooked during the sentencing thanks to Potter and Longbottom's testimonies, which he had been so grateful for that he had actually gone up to them and stammered thanks. Although Longbottom looked uneasily, Potter had given him a carefully guarded smile and shaken his hand, and Draco had felt sort of forgiven, which was really all he required.

Just a few days ago, Potter had posted his old wand back to him, with a messily scrawled note taped to it:

_Was cleaning out and found this buried in a corner. Thought it'd be best for you to have it back._

_HP_

Although Draco was sure that Potter was simply trying to be a nice little Gryffindor, he had to admit that the gift had made his life a lot easier. The Hawthorn wand felt warm when he took it in his fingers for the first time, and all the charms he had difficulty doing suddenly seemed simple and effective. He had written a simple "thank you" on the back of Potter's letter and sent it back to him, as if it was no big deal and hadn't had any real impact on his life, but in truth, he was extremely grateful.

The fact was that Draco _liked_ where he was now – the first time he could have truly said that. He was an apprentice at Mr. Mulpepper's Apothecary, and his employer wasn't prejudiced towards former Death Eaters and recognized his talents fairly. His Muggle apartment was cosy and not easily invaded by _Daily Prophet_ reporters, and he and his parents were on good terms, even after he had come out to them as being gay. In fact, his mother's initial reaction was to turn to grin at her husband and whisper, "I called it."

Draco wasn't sure whether to be offended or not. He had chosen to laugh it off.

The tension in the Manor had defused by a tenfold now that they didn't have a Dark Lord hanging over their heads, and it was clear how relaxed the atmosphere there was every time Draco was allowed to visit.

"The war made us realize, Draco, that we simply cannot be certain of how much time we have left to walk to earth," his father had said quietly following Draco's confessions to being gay. "All that matters is your happiness."

And with his father's blessing, there was no way Draco _wasn't_ going to find his happiness. In fact, he was happier than he had been in a long time, despite being single. He had barely experienced adulthood – he didn't need anything to tie him down. Such obligations could come later on, and he was satisfied with his life now. That fact in itself was a miracle.

But if Draco was truly happy, then what was this void doing inside him?

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

Harry didn't feel very much like talking that night as he lazily returned to Grimmauld Place. He didn't speak to Kreacher, he didn't touch his dinner (the elf was visibly hurt by the rejection of his fine cooking, and Harry made a mental note to make sure Hermione didn't find out) and he barely slept that night.

There was no denying it now – something was missing, something was very, very wrong, and he just couldn't put his finger on it. As if he needed any more mysteries to solve in his life.

He ran through possible reasons in his head. He couldn't be missing his friends – he saw Ron and Neville almost every day, Hermione at least once a week, and Ginny and Luna reasonably often. Was he experiencing some belated tension or sadness as a result of lives lost in the war? That didn't seem likely either, as he was frankly certain he had come to a peaceful acceptance of that. Was he craving romance? A little less responsibility and more time for himself and fun?

Maybe it was just a phase, and if he ignored it long enough, this odd feeling would go away.

Yeah, maybe.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

Draco hated feeling like this, hated being in this emotional state for no reason, especially after he had been through so much in the War – all he wanted was a little peace, a break from being unhappy.

Trying to figure out what was wrong with him, Draco skipped dinner and went straight to his fridge for a bottle of beer. Muggle appliances had taken a while to get used to, but now that he knew how to work them, he found the process of using them rather enjoyable.

Popping the cap, Draco took a long swig from the glass bottle. It tasted rather artificial and flat in his mouth, which was odd, because Draco usually liked this kind of beer. Annoyed with himself for acting strange, he set the bottle down on the table and tried to figure out what was wrong with him.

It couldn't be the fact that he missed his parents. He'd seen them last weekend and had Firecalled his mother a few hours ago. He had lost all of his friends, so it wasn't like he had any to miss. Or was _that_ the problem? Did he long for companionship? Unfortunately, it wasn't like he could find much of that right now, nor did he really want to. Maybe some time he'd get up to socialising, when he felt up to it, which he didn't.

Lying down on his sofa, Draco draped an arm over his eyes. He hadn't completely outgrown his spoiled childhood and was easily distressed when things weren't going his way. If this odd, strange emotional void didn't go away soon, he was going to have to find a way to obtain some company.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

Harry barely had time to react as a jet of light was shot towards the glass structure he was supposed to be protecting.

" _Carpe Retractum_!" he yelled, shouting the first spell that came to mind, drawing the object towards him with whip-like force. Unfortunately, he didn't have enough time to erect a cushioning charm, and the delicate glass shattered unceremoniously in front of him.

The lights came back on in the training hall. Harry winced at the sudden onslaught of artificial light obscuring his vision, but quickly fixed up his expression as Proudfoot, one of the Auror trainers, marched up to him, looking positively livid.

"Potter!" he screeched. "How many times must I tell you, _speed is key_! How you ever became a Seeker, I have no idea. And Weasley!" Proudfoot turned sharply towards Ron. "You were supposed to have his back! You could have Conjured a cushioning charm, could you have not?"

Ron stared at his toes in defeat, and Harry bit his tongue to keep from answering back. It wasn't as if they hadn't tried their very best to defend the worthless glass statue – it was that Proudfoot and Savage were setting very unrealistic expectations. No one would ever expect two Aurors to singlehandedly deflect fifty _Reducto_ s at once.

"Dumb luck might have worked for you before, Potter, but it takes more than good fortune to be an Auror," Savage snarled from a corner as he cast a _Reparo_ on the shattered glass. "Better buck up, or I'll put in some words about you to the Minister."

Harry felt a slight surge of irritation rush quickly through his nerves, but he hurriedly forced any frustration he felt down. Blowing up on his trainers wouldn't do him any good – it'd probably only get him kicked out faster.

"There's no need for threats, Savage," Proudfoot said. Harry didn't mind him as much – he might have been extremely strict, and he might have been a firm believer in the fact that Harry and his friends should have gone through the standard interviews first, but he was never unfair. Plus, he didn't always have an unrelated insult to throw at Harry. "They won't get you anywhere; the Minister's got their backs." He turned to Harry and Ron and frowned. "We're going to try that again. Remember, Potter, _speed_! And Weasley, _focus_!" He marched off, but Savage lingered for a little longer.

"The Minister won't have your backs forever, Potter, Weasley," he said warningly. "He might still be star-struck by your fame, but the few of us who choose to remain sensible aren't."

Ron grabbed onto Harry's arm a split second before Harry opened his mouth to say something he would probably regret. "Not worth it," he muttered into Harry's ear. Harry nodded mutely, taking a few moments to collect himself as the lights dimmed again. He would be really lucky if he didn't smash the stupid glass ornament on purpose this time. He'd be even luckier if he was able to resist the temptation to fling it in the general direction of Savage's face.

Then again, Harry had always been lucky – even if it was just, as Savage put it, dumb luck. Now, if only that dumb luck would apply to this strange feeling that something was missing, and make it go away.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

Flasks filled with dark yellow liquid were lined up in neat little rows all along the table, arranged meticulously with a preciseness that was really rather impressive. A single drop of perspiration dripped down the side of Draco's neck. He had been working diligently on a batch of _Chelidonium Miniscula_ all morning, and it was already nearing eleven o'clock. He smirked to himself, proud of his accomplishments. He waved his wand, ladling the newest concoction into more flasks and sending stoppers sailing into them before setting them down to join the rest on the table.

Draco paused for a moment, admiring his handiwork. He couldn't think of a better way to live. Very few were privileged enough to get paid to do something that they love.

A sudden spike of annoyance rushed through Draco's feelings of comfortable peace. He took a step back, wondering if he had been working too hard, and carefully re-pocketed his wand, thinking it was just a passing rush from exhaustion. It didn't pass, though, and he felt a steady anger pulse through him for seemingly no reason in particular.

Frantically, Draco briefly checked through all the ingredients he had used for his potion-making and double-checked his skin for spillage. There didn't seem to be any harmful substances anywhere, and if this rage wasn't potion-induced, then…

"Draco, have you finished with the _Chelidonium Miniscula_?" a voice called.

"Quite. I've spent all morning doing that," Draco said snippily, instantly regretting it. Mr. Mulpepper hadn't done anything to wrong him.

The old man stepped into the room, raising an eyebrow at him, but thankfully dismissing his insolence for the time being. "And they're all ready for shipping?"

"I presume so," Draco replied, his tone ringing rude and blunt. He winced at it, unsure what was making him so irrationally pissed off at someone who had shown him nothing but kindness all this while.

Mr. Mulpepper didn't reply, electing instead to levitate the flasks into insulated crates with his wand. After a moment, he said, "Perhaps harshness gained you several advantages in your childhood, Draco, but I would have expected you to learn by now that in the grand scheme of things, it is compassion that matters."

Draco ducked his head in semi-shame, although he still felt oddly annoyed. He opened his mouth to apologize, but found himself too frustrated to do so. What was wrong with him?

"When you're done being discourteous, do make yourself useful at the counter. I'm expecting an influx of female customers requesting Beautification Potions and Tolipan Blemish Blitzer in a few minutes," Mr. Mulpepper said briskly. "I will take over the customers after I'm done with some paperwork. I don't trust you to hold your tongue around gaggling females today. After I've returned, I'll need you to make Star Grass Salve. Oh, and while you're at it, order some more of Madame Glossy's Silver Polish – our stocks are running low."

"Yes, sir," Draco said coolly, and even he noticed that his voice was far colder than it should have been.

Mr. Mulpepper spared him one last glance, and Draco noticed that there was a tinge of concern in his gaze. Before he could be certain, however, his employer had turned and walked out of the room.

First the emptiness (which was still ever-present, by the way), and now this? Sighing, Draco put on the most sincere smile he could muster, which probably wasn't quite so sincere after all, and exited the room after Mr. Mulpepper, wondering what could possibly be happening to him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: Alcohol consumption, one night stands. Yes, Draco is currently using sex with strangers as an outlet for the emptiness, but the scenes are not detailed. I promise he will not get romantically involved with anyone except Harry in this story and it will not be a problem later. Please do not give me any flack for this - Draco practices safety and he's a grown man who can make his own decisions. ;)

  
**The Daily Prophet Mini Stories:**

_Lucius Malfoy Taken Ill_

Former Death-Eater Lucius Malfoy has been placed under the care of St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries following a sudden Scrofungulus infection late yesterday night. It is unknown as to how the potentially fatal and extremely contagious disease managed to seep its way into the Malfoy Manor, but Healers say that there is a 50% chance of Mr. Malfoy's survival. Mr. Malfoy is currently receiving treatment at the Magical Bugs and Diseases department of St Mungo's and has been reportedly visited by his son Draco (see picture) almost immediately after admission. The young Mr. Malfoy has not left his side over the course of the past few hours. Meanwhile, Mr. Malfoy's wife Narcissa has not been granted permission to see her husband as she remains under house arrest.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

It had been a long time since Harry got the chance to sit down and have a proper breakfast with his two best friends. Thank Merlin for the weekend.

"Are you seriously having _that_ for your first meal of the day?" Hermione questioned, wrinkling her nose as Ron dug into a large plate of macaroni and cheese.

"What's so wrong with this?" Ron grumbled. "Besides, it isn't really my first meal. I had a hotdog on my way out."

Hermione muttered something that sounded oddly like "gross", and Harry hurriedly changed the subject.

"How's Hogwarts, Hermione?" he asked quickly.

"It's wonderful, though still in the process of being rebuilt. It's so _lovely_ to see all the Houses finally working together," Hermione mused, and Ron shot Harry a how-dare-you-get-her-started look. "Now if only you boys had bothered to return to actually complete your NEWTS, you'd be as impressed by the progress as I am, if not more so. I mean, there's a slight demand for professors, but otherwise everything's going along swimmingly, and –"

Suddenly, an odd feeling of absolute sadness enveloped Harry, this time even more aggressively than the emptiness he had been carrying around for the past fortnight. Appetite suddenly lost, he dropped his cutlery and balled his hands into fists.

"Harry? Harry, what's wrong?" Hermione was saying, but Harry couldn't listen to her voice without feeling a terrible, terrible depression.

And then, just like that, a tear escaped Harry's left eye.

"Woah, mate," Ron gaped, looking taken aback but awkwardly patting his arm. "We didn't know you missed Hogwarts _that_ much. We'll change the topic if you want."

"No…it…it's not that," Harry said, embarrassed when he realized that his voice was coming out in choked sobs. "I…I don't know what it is, I just…suddenly feel so…"

"Alright, there, there," Ron proceeded, still awkward as ever. "Hermione, you really didn't need to bring all of that up –"

"Ron, I don't think that's what's happening," Hermione said. "Harry, what's the matter?"

"I…I don't know," he said shakily, struggling to collect himself, but more tears were flowing. "I can't…it just…"

"That's it, I'm taking you back to Grimmauld Place," Hermione said firmly. "Ron, foot the bill, would you?"

"That's not fair!" Ron exclaimed. " _I'm_ his best mate, why should I –"

"Ronald!" Hermione snapped warningly, and Ron sighed and turned to call the waiter.

Harry was still trembling, and he felt even more empty than he had before, and he found that this particular emptiness was far more crippling.

And then, suddenly, it all disappeared.

Harry paused, straightened up, and tentatively stretched. The feeling that something was missing was still there, but the overwhelming sadness had considerably diminished.

Hermione eyed him, looking worried. "Harry?"

"I think…I'm alright now," Harry said. His voice held this time. Satisfied, he breathed in deeply and exhaled. "Yeah."

"What happened?" Ron asked, frowning.

"I don't know," Harry replied truthfully. "I just suddenly felt really, really upset."

"Over what, though?" Hermione questioned, looking thoughtful and concerned at the same time.

"It's probably just all the stress," Harry reasoned. "From Auror training and the Ministry's officials."

"Yeah," Ron agreed, seeming eager to accept the simple explanation. "Savage _has_ been giving you a really hard time."

"But Harry, you never broke down while we were on the run during the War," Hermione argued. "And I'd say there was a lot more stress involved there."

Harry shrugged. "Well, whatever it was, it was just a passing emotion. It's gone now." Finding himself hungry again, Harry picked up his cutlery and resumed the mundane task of cutting his sausage.

"But, the thing is, Harry, you've been acting a little strange for the past few weeks," Hermione pressed on, and Harry groaned.

"What do you mean by that?"

"You've been a little more detached," she elaborated. "And a lot less sarcastic."

"The second bit's not that bad, though, is it?" Ron grinned.

"Oh, come _on_ , Ronald," Hermione said impatiently. "You spend majority of your waking life with him. Don't tell me you're so obtuse that you haven't noticed –"

"Alright, alright," Ron snapped. "I've noticed." When Harry shot him a betrayed look, he added quickly, "But not in the extreme way that she's suggesting. I mean, you seem to get this faraway look on your face every once in a while, and you go really quiet sometimes, but it isn't that serious!"

Harry buried his face in his hands.

"How is that not serious?" Hermione argued. "It's a significant change in character, Ron! You can't just dismiss that!"

"I'm not dismissing it, I'm just saying that he seems fine once you snap him out of it!" Ron retaliated. "Right, Harry?"

Before Harry could reply, Hermione was talking again. "But you don't know what's going on in his head _before_ you snap –"

"Guys!" Harry said loudly, causing both of them to stop. "I really appreciate the concern, but _I'm fine_. If anything was wrong, I'd tell you."

Ron nodded. "That's alright, mate. We trust you."

Harry smiled and went back to his breakfast, but he could feel Hermione's analytical eyes watching his every move. In fact, if he paid attention, he could almost hear the gears whirring in that brilliant mind.

If only Harry didn't feel like he was lying to them. Maybe then it'd take some of the guilt away.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

It was about ten o'clock at night when Harry felt the same depression swooping in over him again, and this time a lot stronger than earlier.

Don't get me wrong – Harry had felt plenty of sadness before, courtesy of being an orphan and losing friends during the entire span of his life at Hogwarts. But it had never been like this, never as if he had lost such a huge part of him. Actually, if he thought about it, it didn't feel like he had lost anything – it felt as if something was being taken away from him, and he was just watching, powerless to stop it. It didn't feel too good.

Harry muttered an _Accio_ and a bottle of Blishen's Firewhisky (possibly given to him by Mrs Weasley or someone similar, for Harry never bothered picking out fine alcohol, usually opting for something simple, inexpensive and not of good quality like Schletters Fine Whisky) zoomed out of some dark, dusty corner of the pantry and came to a halt in front of him before landing smoothly on the table. Reaching for a glass, Harry opened the bottle with a flick of his wand and poured out a generous amount. Tilting his head back, he downed the entire glass in one gulp.

Harry didn't usually drink, but he needed to find a way to drown his unwanted, unprovoked sorrows. The beverage burned his throat pleasantly, sending a warm rush down his chest to rest in the pit of his stomach. Briefly, the misery faded and Harry basked in the newfound heat, but all too soon, the sensation was gone. Disappointed, Harry refilled his glass and took another long drag from it, once more draining it of its contents in a single motion. The warmth seemed to last a split second shorter this time, and a frustrated Harry sloshed a larger amount messily into the glass.

It wasn't long before Harry simply drank straight from the bottle, too far gone to really know what he was doing. But that was alright – he wouldn't remember any of it in the morning, and maybe, just maybe, the sadness and emptiness would be gone.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

Draco dragged his feet out of the hospital at ten o'clock that night. He was emotionally and physically exhausted, and it didn't help that he still felt horribly, unbearably empty.

Thankfully, the few reporters who had been waiting for an appearance of either Malfoy had left, leaving Draco to walk the white-walled, monotonous halls without being stopped or feeling the need to hex someone. The nurse at the counter wished him a good night which he did not return – it was too late to have one. He exited the building and Apparated to a discrete alleyway he always used in Muggle London, then began to walk home – perhaps a bit of exercise would clear his mind.

Frankly, Draco was sick and tired of this emptiness. As childish as it sounded, he desperately wanted it to go away. He had already narrowed it down to lack of companionship – perhaps he should find some of that. Changing his mind about going home, he made a detour and took a left turn, walking down gradually darkening streets until he reached one so dark he couldn't even see his hands swinging beside him. Locating a narrow road he recognized, he took it and paced down it until he saw bright lights shining ahead of him in bright colours.

Not many were aware of the gay community's go-to bars and clubs, and most would be horrified by how easy it would be to chance upon them when exploring this side of London. It wouldn't be much of an issue then, though, as majority of the businesses here only opened after dark, and it wasn't so easily accessible at this time due to the badly-lit streets leading there. Draco had only been here thrice so far, and only to grab a drink and watch the crowd – never to hook up or even dance. This time, though, he had other ideas.

Draco knew he was reasonably attractive – he had outgrown most of the pointy features he'd had in his youth, and he was pleasantly slim with enough muscle so give his body an appealing form. He had been hit on several times when at the bars here and had almost never had to pay for his own drink, although he'd never let anyone take him home. It wouldn't be too difficult finding some bloke he was attracted to, right?

The task seemed harder than expected as Draco strode into the first club he saw. He walked right up to the bar and sat down, waiting for someone to pick him up. The first person who bought him a drink was blond, overly muscular and especially arrogant – that didn't really do it for Draco, and it would be a little embarrassing not being able to get it up, so he turned the man down. The second man was clearly a top – Draco didn't bottom for anyone. The third was far too pushy, and would probably become too attached to Draco, who wanted nothing more than a simple one-night-stand. By the fourth, a balding, large man in his forties (Draco felt repulsed by even entertaining the notion of sleeping with him), he decided that waiting for someone to come to him wasn't going to help. He had to actively search.

Draco glanced around the bar and saw an unconventionally handsome brunet sitting a few seats away. He walked up to him, unsure how to begin. "Hi," he said awkwardly.

The brunet looked up at him and babbled something in Spanish.

Draco groaned – this wasn't really working out. Sighing, he decided that perhaps loosening himself up on the dance floor would take his mind off of his father and the emptiness. He shimmied his way through the crowd, found a spot with enough leg room, and slowly swayed his hips to the rhythm. Like most Purebloods, Draco had been taught how to properly dance by the age of five, and this act of dancing without rules felt liberating. Besides, he knew he looked good doing this – years of practice for and at parties organised by his parents had been good for him.

Draco ignored all those who came up to gyrate against him – even when they rubbed their arses down on his cock, he couldn't get hard, and that would probably translate to the bed later on, and he wouldn't wound his pride that way. Instead, he danced on his own, roughly turning away from anyone who expressed interest in him. Perhaps it wasn't companionship he craved, but power; the rush of having authority when rejecting interested men. He wasn't sure.

He was halfway through the second song when someone finally, _finally_ caught his eye. It was another brunet (Draco had never noticed this preference of his before), well-built and lightly tanned, who moved with more of a learned skill than a natural suavity. Oddly, this infatuated and attracted Draco more than the talented movements of the good-looking man lavishing attention on him now. Pulling away from the latter, he moved towards the brunet and stepped in front of him, then began to dance even more smoothly, rocking his hips against him.

The brunet glanced up at him, and Draco registered dilated pupils, surrounded by a thin line that was somewhere between blue and green. Somehow, the sight managed to turn Draco on, and he pushed himself against his new conquest. The brunet shuddered, canting his groin against Draco's, and Draco smirked in a way he knew this man would find sexy.

"What's your name?" Draco whispered huskily into his right ear.

The answer was a garbled moan.

Draco pretended he understood. "My name's Draco," he said quietly.

Another moan, and Draco felt an odd twinge of annoyance. Somehow, this unnamed person's compliancy bothered him, but he couldn't tell why. But beggars couldn't be choosers, and Draco slowly steered the tipsy man towards slightly more private grounds.

Not more than ten minutes later, Draco's back was pressed against the cold blue wall of a bathroom stall, his cock engulfed by the brunet's mouth. The feeling was exhilarating, and it distracted him from the ever-present feeling that something was missing. But as soon as he came, shooting down the brunet's throat, the emptiness returned, twice as sharp and three times as obvious.

Draco was expected to reciprocate – he had even been given a lecture when his parents gave him 'the talk' about never leaving his partner dissatisfied – but suddenly felt that he couldn't do it. Instead, he discreetly drew his wand, muttered an _Obliviate_ , and left the restroom before the man could even realized what hit him. It was a good thing that tracking charms had been made illegal after Minister Shacklebolt came into power, otherwise Draco would have been carted off to Azkaban for performing magic in front of a Muggle. Even if it hadn't been legal, Draco wouldn't have cared, because at the moment, he was too riddled by a strange sense of guilt.

Draco left the club immediately, suddenly feeling filthy and ashamed, and even more hollow than he had before.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

When Harry woke up the next morning, he knew for a fact that he was late for training. Firstly, the sun was already shining (which it wouldn't be doing if it was the ungodly hour that was six o'clock, which is the time Harry usually had to get up), and secondly, he could hear Ron's voice at the door, yelling something incoherent, which Ron wouldn't have done unless he was worried about Harry, who never missed a day at the Ministry.

Harry sat up, groaning. His head was spinning and everything seemed a little too bright, plus the steady rapping on his door coupled with Ron's shouts seemed to be loud enough to make his eardrums explode.

"Harry? Harry! I know you're in there, open up the bloody door!" Ron was saying. "Savage is pissed beyond belief; he's going to eviscerate you if you don't get your arse out of this house –"

Harry ignored him, even as Kreacher appeared beside him holding a hangover remedy. "Is Master Potter wishing Kreacher to let Mister Weasley in?"

"No," Harry replied, and he didn't know why he said it – usually, he would've confided in his best mate, but right now, he really didn't want to have to deal with him. He gulped down what Kreacher had prepared for him, and most of the spinning sensations he was experiencing disappeared, and the throbbing in his head diminished. Now that he could think properly, Harry stood up and glanced around. The bottle of Blishen's Firewhiskey he only vaguely remembered consuming lay on its side in the centre of the living room floor, a part of its neck chipped off in a jagged sort of triangle. Nonverbally calling his wand to him, he waited till it entered his grasp before waving it over the mess, effectively Vanishing the bottle and its fragments.

"Harry! For fuck's sake," Ron swore outside. "Kreacher, I know you're there, and you'd better open this door..."

" _Stains of dishonour, filthy half-breeds, blood traitors, children of filth_!" yelled the portrait of Mrs Black downstairs. Harry groaned, holding his still slightly sore head in his hands.

"Kreacher is given direct orders not to open door while Master Potter is being away," Kreacher shouted over the screaming.

"Away? Where is he?" Ron shouted back.

"Kreacher cannot be speaking to Mister Weasley now. Goodbye!" There was the sound of a struggle, then silence as Kreacher successfully yanked the curtains back over the picture.

Harry felt a twinge of guilt for pushing Ron away, as it was something he didn't usually do, but he decided that at the moment, it was for the best. Shrugging off the clothes he had fallen asleep in, he cast a quick cleaning charm over himself, hoping it would suffice in place of a bath, and pulled on a fresh set of robes. After quickly glancing at himself in the mirror and deeming himself acceptable while thanking Merlin for specialised wards that allowed all trainees and trainers through, he Apparated to the training centre.

He arrived at the front of the hall just as Proudfoot rounded a corner and came into his view. He looked very cross, but not nearly as furious as Harry had imagined him being.

"Mr. Potter!" he snapped, as soon as he laid his eyes on Harry. "You are more than three hours late! Have you anything to say for yourself?"

"No, sir. I'm sorry." Harry tried to sound as meek as possible, in hopes that Proudfoot wouldn't allow Savage to tear him limb from limb.

"What? No half-arsed excuses?" he questioned, arching an eyebrow.

"Not very good ones," Harry admitted. "I overslept."

"Over – oh Godric," Proudfoot muttered, burying his face in his right hand. "Well, hurry along then. You've got some practical tests in an hour, and if you don't want Savage to flunk you, you had better get your scrawny arse to training room seven. Now!"

Harry nodded hastily and sprinted down the corridor before making a sharp turn, knocking smartly on the correct door, and exhaling with relief when noting that the trainer for this room wasn't one of the stricter ones – he was allowed to take a seat without having to hear a lecture first.

Ron arrived at the same room a minute later, and as soon as he saw Harry, he glared daggers at him.

"I was at Grimmauld Place a few minutes ago," he said under his breath, sounding cross. "Why didn't you answer the door?"

"Sorry, must have missed you," Harry whispered back, and immediately found himself unable to meet Ron's eyes. Luckily, Ron seemed to buy it, and sank into the chair next to him with a huff of dissatisfaction.

Harry closed his eyes, allowing the trainer's voice to lull him into a slightly relaxed state, but deep down, he was worried. Why was he allowing the emptiness to slowly consume him? And what if it turned him into someone he didn't recognize?

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

As soon as night fell and the shop was closed up, Draco found himself walking back to the club he had visited the previous night. It had been a rather horrible day, what with all the potions that had to be made and the customers who had to be dealt with, and it didn't help that he was feeling terribly guilty for being snappish with Mr. Mulpepper.

Draco was sick and tired of this emptiness. He was going to have to try a little harder to get rid of it if he wanted to get back to a normal life. Well, as normal as his would ever be.

The pulsing, hard beats emanated for the club, as if enticing him to his fate. He would not be picky tonight – perhaps that was the trouble, he was putting too much effort into finding the right person, when in the end it would amount to nothing but a one night stand. Yes, he wouldn't try so hard tonight. And he wouldn't take advantage of a drunk, either – he assumed that his guilt from the previous night had been about taking advantage of someone possibly underage and rather intoxicated.

He pushed past the crowd of people intertwined in twos and threes at the entrance of the club. Lights flashed from the ceiling in a pattern he hadn't noticed the day before. Did they change it, or had he simply not been paying attention?

There was a boy at the bar who looked just about Draco's age. Draco could see bright blue eyes shining under a mop of neatly combed black hair. He wasn't too bad-looking, and he didn't seem totally under the influence yet.

Putting on his confident stance, Draco walked over to him and leaned his elbow against the bar right next to his conquest. "Hi," he drawled.

The boy glanced up at him, gave him the classic once-over with his eyes, and smiled cockily. "Hi."

Draco felt a small twitch of irritation at the boy's arrogance, but he quickly realised that thinking that way made him a bit of a hypocrite, so he went with it. He gestured to the half-empty glass in the boy's hand. "What you drinking?"

"Just a scotch," the boy replied.

"Fancy another?"

"Sure, why not?"

Draco signalled the bartender, and then turned his attention back to the boy. He wasn't conventionally handsome, but Draco wasn't being picky. Besides, he already preferred this kid to half the others lingering around the area.

It didn't take much for Draco to convince the boy to come home with him, but seeing as the boy lived less than two blocks away, they'd go to his place instead. His name was Dean or Dan or something like that – Draco didn't really care to remember – and he claimed to be twenty-one years old. Draco knew better. He attempted to make conversation with this boy as they clambered into a taxi, but he seemed to lack the intelligence necessary to discuss anything of value. Draco didn't mind – he would rather focus on Don (or whatever his name was) and his useless prattling than think about why he was doing this.

Somewhere halfway through the ride, Draco felt a hand creep up his thigh. He threw a smirk at the person sitting next to him, even though this whole affair felt oddly wrong, and allowed himself to be pulled forwards as his neck was attacked with open-mouthed kisses. His soon-to-be lover was experienced, and Draco felt his arousal awaken as he was palmed through his trousers, but there was nagging in the back of Draco's head that prevented him from fully focusing.

When the cab pulled up, Draco didn't even have enough time to finish paying for the fare before he was pulled up the steps of a shabby-looking terrace house and shoved inside and against the wall. Quick work was made of shirts and pants, and before he knew it, he was naked, and so was his partner, who led him messily to the bedroom. Draco hastily took control, pushing his partner down onto the bed. It was hot and messy and there were no loving kisses or attentions left on either person – it was just sex, nothing more than the night's fuck for both of them.

"Condoms," Draco muttered urgently, and the boy gestured towards the bedside table. Draco fumbled for the handle on the drawers and found a bottle of lube first. After a bit of rummaging, Draco managed to find a gold packet. He ripped off the top with his teeth and tugged it on, then slicked himself hurriedly. His partner was already preparing himself, stretching himself with his fingers and half-smiling at Draco in a way he guessed was supposed to be seductive. Draco didn't find it as attractive as it probably was.

Within minutes, Draco was pushing into his partner, and quiet grunts filled the air. Hot tightness enveloped him and Draco bit his lip, allowing his body to be consumed by an ashamed pleasure. Draco wasn't by any means inexperienced, but it still took him a slight while to find his partner's prostate. When he finally did, the boy practically screamed and clutched at Draco's back, dragging his nails across it. Draco found this more painful than pleasurable. His partner was loud and let out exaggerated moans at certain moments that made Draco wonder if he was faking it. Still, Draco must have been doing something right, because after a short while, when he grabbed his member and pumped it in time with his steadily quickening thrusts, the boy arched and came with a shout. Draco followed a minute later, pulling out and shooting his come over the boy's stomach with a cry of ecstasy before collapsing a good distance away from him.

They lay there for a moment, and Draco felt uncomfortable as the sticky mess began to dry on his skin. The boy lay on the next pillow, his eyes closed, looking sated and untroubled. Draco, on the other hand, having come down from his high, felt himself become suddenly consumed by regret.

Draco waited until his partner's breathing evened out, indicating his slumber, then got up and dressed himself slowly, applying several cleaning charms that only reddened his skin but didn't do anything to make him feel any filthy. He left the boy sleeping and exited the house, then started on the long walk home.


	3. Chapter 3

For the next few days, Harry was constantly awoken early in the morning by an alarm charm which he had taken to setting every night. It had become a sort of routine – he'd wake up, take a hangover remedy, and clear cracked bottles of Swott Malt Whisky (which he discovered lots of in his pantry, probably plundered by Kreacher) from the floor. He wasn't late for training again, which was a relief, but he was learning more slowly and performing a lot more poorly than before. Harry knew he was in danger of being sacked, but he'd much rather be able to sleep the night without feeling the emptiness. If alcohol helped him, he'd just have to deal with it.

It was on a Sunday at breakfast with his mates that Harry finally decided that this wasn't a very good idea. He was exhausted, and Hermione had commented several times on his appearance while Ron eyed him suspiciously.

"I think it could be stress," Harry reasoned.

"You look a little depressed, mate," Ron said. "You sure it's just that?"

"Maybe I need a Cheering Charm," Harry muttered.

"A charm isn't going to produce a good enough effect," Hermione said. "There are potions to help with this kind of thing. The Draught of Peace, for example. I'm sure there are apothecaries that carry it."

"Maybe," Harry sighed.

"She's right, you know," Ron cut in, causing Hermione to give him a beam – Harry rolled his eyes at this. Ron always sided with Hermione to get himself out of possible lectures. "It might help. There are some pretty good apothecaries in Diagon Alley. It's worth a shot, eh?"

Harry figured there was no harm in trying. After all, he was getting desperate, and he didn't want an alcohol addiction. So after footing the bill despite his friends' protests, Harry Apparated to Wizarding London.

Diagon Alley was rather crowded despite the early hour. Witches were bustling about Madam Malkin's and Twilfitt and Tatting's – perhaps some sort of sale was going on – and he could see a swarm of people in Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment. He trod the streets silently, permitting a few wizards to stare at him in star-struck recognition and attempting to smile back, but mostly failing. He shrugged his way through the flurry of magical folk until he came upon Slug & Jiggers Apothecary. He walked up to the door and pushed his way inside, only to be greeted by the familiar stench of bad eggs and rotten cabbage. Harry had been buying his items here as long as he could remember.

"Draught of Peace?" the man behind the counter said, stroking his moustache. "I'm afraid I haven't got any in stock."

"Can't you make any?" Harry asked.

"I would, but I'm out of powdered unicorn horn and I haven't got enough syrup of hellebore," the man replied. "Sorry."

Harry thanked him and left. He was about to call it a day when he noticed the shop right next to Slug and Jiggers. The sign read Mr. Mulpepper's Apothecary. He had never been in it before, mostly because he hadn't needed to, but he figured he might as well give it a shot.

Harry pushed open the door and a soft bell chimed throughout the shop. It was empty apart from an old, white-haired man who Harry guessed was Mr. Mulpepper, and a man standing in another room which had its door wide open with his back facing Harry, probably a shop assistant, rearranging something on the shelves lined up against the wall there. Harry felt an odd sense of familiarity towards the person's stance, but couldn't quite place it. The man had neat blond hair that was perfectly combed in a way that Harry's could never possibly achieve, and he was wearing Muggle clothing, which was odd for a person working in Diagon Alley – a pair of dark fitting jeans and a black jacket. He had a slim frame but Harry could see tension in the man's shoulder and back muscles as he moved.

"Excuse me," Harry said quietly, walking up to Mr. Mulpepper. "I'm here to ask if you've got the Draught of Peace in stock."

"Yes, we do," Mr. Mulpepper replied. "May I ask, though, what it's for?"

"I've been rather stressed out lately," Harry muttered, for some reason feeling the need to keep his voice down. "My friends think it might do me some good."

"The Draught of Peace," Mr. Mulpepper began, "is a rather dangerous potion to meddle with. Too high a dosage might knock you out completely. If you don't mind, I usually ask my customers a few questions first when they request more complex remedies, so as to better understand what they are experiencing. It helps me to recommend the best potion for their needs, as well as the required dosage. If you would please have a seat – you seem quite morose and agitated."

"I am," Harry agreed, sitting down on a stool in front of the counter. And indeed, he was – it was the perfect way to describe his current state, both depressed and frustrated, as though he needed something desperately but couldn't find it.

"Some tea, perhaps? It might calm your frazzled nerves."

"No, thank you."

"Very well." Mr. Mulpepper stood opposite him and picked up a quill and parchment. "When did you start experiencing these symptoms?"

"About three weeks ago," Harry replied, unable to remember the exact date.

Mr. Mulpepper glanced up at him curiously, looking startled by something, but didn't say anything to explain his expression. Perhaps he had just noticed who Harry was – the Golden Boy and all that rubbish. Harry hoped he hadn't. He didn't want any special treatment today. "Could you describe for me the type of emotions you have been experiencing?"

"Err..." Harry didn't feel like mentioning the emptiness, but he couldn't find a way out of it, because that was mainly what he felt. "As if something's missing."

"I see." Mr. Mulpepper was taking notes. "And this is not related to any losses in your life at the moment?"

"No," Harry replied.

"Do you feel saddened or frustrated by this feeling? How are you dealing with it?"

"I just want to solve the problem," Harry admitted. "And I've been...err...drinking a little."

"I see," Mr. Mulpepper said again. He was frowning, as if deep in thought, and scribbling hurriedly on his parchment. "Is there anything else apart from the missing something?"

"No," Harry said, then paused. "Well, yes, actually. There was this moment when I felt unreasonably depressed."

"Depressed?" Mr. Mulpepper appeared to make a note along the sides of the parchment. "How so? Was it a flashback of past troubles?"

"The thing is, I haven't felt it that way before," Harry replied. "I've lost friends, you know, in the War, and I've had to watch some people die. But this is different – it's on a different plane altogether."

"And when did this happen?"

"Probably exactly a week ago, give or take a day."

Mr. Mulpepper suddenly stopped writing and glanced up at Harry, a look of extreme confusion but also brilliant enlightenment on his face. "You are Harry Potter, am I right?"

Harry groaned. "Yes, but please –"

"That means you wouldn't know how it felt like to begin to lose a parent."

Harry stopped mid-sentence, taken aback by the sudden assumption. "Well, no, I suppose not, but I don't see –"

"Tell me, Mr. Potter," the Potioneer said, his voice now clearly betraying interest. "Did you experience any infuriating encounters within the first week of these symptoms?"

Harry wracked his brains. "Umm...yes, I did. I had some trouble finishing a course at Auror training, and one of my trainers was being unfair." He frowned, mulling over it. "Why is that of importance?"

Mr. Mulpepper looked over his shoulder, through the open door, where his shop assistant was waving his wand over a brewing cauldron. Harry followed his gaze, and found himself minutely infatuated by the grace with which the assistant moved.

Mr. Mulpepper opened his mouth and called, "Draco."

Harry froze at the familiar name, and all of a sudden the recognition he experienced earlier fell into place. The shop assistant turned around at the sound of his name, re-pocketing his wand in a fluid motion, and his light grey eyes instantly fell upon Harry. He did not react openly, but his widening eyes clearly showed his surprise.

"Potter," Malfoy said, perhaps before he could stop himself.

Harry stood up, his body instantly tensing up as he sensed hostility rolling off of Malfoy in waves. "Malfoy," he replied stiffly. He watched carefully, expecting Malfoy to advance towards him like before in Hogwarts, but he didn't move, instead eyeing Harry with narrowed eyes that were not suspicious, but were certainly not trusting. Harry took the opportunity to survey him. Malfoy had rather outgrown his pointy features, and his hair framed his face rather nicely, making it look softer, and the clothes he wore now seemed cheap, but definitely fit him well. The man had changed – the arrogance that Harry always associated him with seemed to have faded, and the usually challenging gaze seemed tired and as empty as Harry felt. But there were similarities as well – said eyes were still the blue-grey of silvery slate, and his features were still pale and slim like the rest of him, and Harry could see from the stance he held that Malfoy was still very much a proud git. For some reason, Harry found comfort in the fact that not everything had been altered.

"I see you two know each other," Mr. Mulpepper said pleasantly, as though oblivious to the tension in the air.

"We both went to Hogwarts," Harry offered politely.

"Ah, that would make sense," Mr. Mulpepper responded.

"You called me, sir?" Malfoy asked, now pointedly ignoring Harry.

"Yes. I need to go to my office to cross-reference these symptoms, as I'm not quite familiar with them," stated Mr. Mulpepper. "You wouldn't mind keeping Mr. Potter company, would you?"

Harry suddenly felt as if he was a victim of another experiment, like one of Dumbledore's or Hermione's – one of a wiser and more intelligent being who had a theory that required testing. He wasn't sure how he felt about this.

"Certainly not, sir," replied Malfoy through slightly gritted teeth.

"Excellent!" Mr. Mulpepper excused himself and disappeared through another side door. Malfoy paced carefully up to the counter and stood in his employer's place.

A few moments uncomfortable silence stretched out between them, but Harry felt some of the emptiness within him somehow...ebb away. He supposed it was due to a familiar routine he remembered from the time when he was still relatively innocent. He noted that some of the tension in Malfoy's shoulders had worn off as well (he had learned to track these signs in Auror training as some point or other, but he wasn't very good at observations).

"How've you been?" Harry finally asked.

Malfoy snorted. "Save me the pleasantries, Potter," he said. "We both know you don't quite care."

"There's nothing wrong with asking how someone's doing," Harry replied.

"If you're inquiring after my well-being, you should be genuinely concerned about it," Malfoy shot back. "Don't ask questions you don't care to know the answers for."

Harry stopped himself from hissing in frustration. Surprisingly, this irritation wasn't like the type he had been experiencing all week. It felt more like him and less like an empty shell's attempt at feeling human. Maybe he needed to fall back into old routines more often.

"Fine," snapped Harry. "How long have you been working here?"

"Save me the interrogation."

"Look, it's a question I'd like to know the answer to, isn't it?" Harry sighed. "Just answer it. It's not going to kill you."

Malfoy shrugged. "Very well. Clearly you're still as stubborn as ever." He smirked, then said, "Since my name was cleared. Mr. Mulpepper was the only employer I could find who would take me in."

Harry nodded as sympathetically as he could, although he couldn't possibly fully understand Malfoy's situation, having never been in one similar to it. He could only imagine what Malfoy was going through. "How've you been?" he asked again.

Malfoy sighed. "Haven't we already been over this?"

"But now I do want to know the answer," Harry replied truthfully.

There was a brief silence, then Malfoy turned away, busying himself with rearranging a stack of papers on the corner of the desk. "I'm alright. Been better," he said, and Harry never thought he'd see the day when Malfoy acted awkward about something as simple as answering a question.

Harry slowly sat back down again and realized that the emptiness had drained out considerably. He mulled over this odd fact – perhaps a potion's shop had calming effects all on its own. He noticed that Malfoy, too, was a lot less tense than when he first saw him from behind in the other room.

Before Harry felt too pressured to think of something else to say, Mr. Mulpepper came back to the room. He glanced quickly between Harry and Malfoy, added a footnote to his parchment, and then smiled at Harry. "I'm afraid I can't find an exact condition matching the symptoms you've been describing. However, I  _can_  offer you a Draught of Peace." He handed Harry a bottle of turquoise liquid. "Do not exceed the dosage I've listed on the side." He rattled off a price, and Harry paid him. Mr. Mulpepper turned to Malfoy. "Draco, take the gentleman's name and address, would you?"

Malfoy sighed and removed a notebook from his back pocket, a Muggle pen in hand.

"Harry Potter, Number 12, Grimmauld Place, London," Harry said without waiting for Malfoy to ask.

Malfoy took it down and nodded politely at Harry, who waved half-heartedly at both Mr. Mulpepper and Malfoy. "Thanks," he said, smiling briefly, thinking he had the solution in hand.

However, as soon as Harry had left Wizarding London, he felt the emptiness slowly creep back up on him, and he wasn't really sure why.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

Two days later, Draco still hadn't quite gotten over the shock of seeing  _Harry bloody Potter_  in the shop he worked at. He also couldn't understand why for the past couple of days, he had felt even worse than previously – as if the thing he was missing was even farther away from him than before.

Mr. Mulpepper entered the storage room where Draco was taking stock. Draco turned to greet him and saw that his employer was grasping two cups of strong tea in his hands.

"What's the matter?" Draco asked, accepting the cup that was held out to him.

"I'd like to ask you about something," Mr. Mulpepper replied. "If you'd have a seat, please?"

Draco sat on one of the boxes upturned on the floor, and Mr. Mulpepper sat opposite him. "You're concerning me," Draco said truthfully. Mr. Mulpepper had never before attempted to talk to him about anything more important than store affairs, never questioning Draco's past and conveying his understanding and/or worries by means of gestures.

"It's simply that you've been acting rather...odd for the past few weeks," Mr. Mulpepper replied. "I'd like to make sure that everything is alright with you."

"It's been as good as it'll ever be," Draco stated stiffly. He didn't want to discuss his issues now. He set his cup down – the tea was stronger than he liked it.

"Are you sure? You aren't feeling as if you're...missing something?"

Draco's gaze snapped up sharply to meet Mr. Mulpepper's. "Pardon?" he demanded.

Mr. Mulpepper nodded to himself. "Ah...I thought so."

"What is this about?" Draco questioned, frowning, his hands slowly clenching into fists.

Mr. Mulpepper, too, set his tea down on the floor. "Yesterday, when Mr. Potter came in to order a Draught of Peace, I performed my usual series of questions," he began, and Draco's eyebrows rose as he wondered what this had to do with anything. "He told me that he had been feeling as if something was missing, associating it with stress, you understand. He began feeling this way around the same time as I began to notice some changes in you."

"And you just assume that we are suffering the same thing off of one coincidental –"

"Patience, Draco," Mr. Mulpepper rebuked, and Draco fell silent obediently. "He also admitted to experiencing depression almost exactly a week before, a kind of sadness that he could not attribute to previous experiences, and we both know he has been through his share of loss. The day he referenced was also the day your father was admitted to the hospital – and he has never had a parent to fear losing, so he cannot possibly fathom what that feels like."

Draco frowned. "No, I suppose not, but –"

"And also," went on Mr. Mulpepper, as though he hadn't heard him. "Do you remember the day you snapped at me about the  _Chelidonium Miniscula_  (which was very much unlike you)? That was most likely the same day Mr. Potter was frustrated for making a few mistakes during Auror training."

"Sir, what are insinuating?" Draco finally cut in.

"That it's all  _connected_ , my boy," Mr. Mulpepper smiled. "You are both experiencing symptoms of the same illness."

"Illness? Hang on a minute, I'm in perfect health," Draco said, as politely as he could. "I'm sure there are other explanations –"

"It's too much of a coincidence for that," Mr. Mulpepper interrupted. "If you have any interest in curing yourself, you may want to take this up with Mr. Potter himself."

"I'm sorry, sir, but I simply don't believe in your theory," Draco said sharply, still maintaining his respect for his boss, but also stating his firm denial. He stood up. "I have to order more ingredients, sir. Excuse me."

Draco heard Mr. Mulpepper sigh as he left the room, but he tried not to put too much concern into it. For all he knew, Mr. Mulpepper was making wild guesses. He could not possibly have anything to do with Potter at this point. That simply wouldn't do.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry found that the Draught hadn't helped much. It worked for about half an hour before the emptiness grew steadily stronger and completely erased the potion's effects.

It had been a week since his visit to the apothecary, and already the bottle was almost empty. While he hadn't exceeded the recommended dose, he had also taken as much as possible without overdosing – which left him with a quarter of the small bottle left.

It wasn't good that Harry was distracted. He and Ron were supposed to go out on the field when the next case came up, and Harry found himself completely on edge and had gotten himself into several more awkward situations when his emotions skyrocketed out of control for no reason. He found himself feeling sadness, anger and joy that was not his own, but he couldn't think where it could have come from.

Harry was awoken from his thoughts by a hoot and a tap on the window of Grimmauld Place. Sighing, he walked over to the glass pane and tugged it open, allowing a rather large, old owl that reminded him slightly of Errol, but with a better sense of direction, to fly in and perch itself neatly on the arm of his sofa. It held its leg out politely, and Harry untied the letter attached to it. The owl took off right away, scattering a few stray feathers across the floor which Harry didn't bother to clean up. Instead, he turned the letter over in his hands – it was nothing more than a folded piece of paper.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_Please come to my shop immediately. There are some things I wish to discuss with you regarding the symptoms you've been facing._

_Regards,_

_Mr. Mulpepper_

Harry stared at the writing for a moment. It was obviously hurried, but had a certain old-fashioned perfection to it that his own writing could never achieve. Even so, he could tell that this was an urgent matter.

Although he hadn't felt much like going out, Harry knew that he wanted a cure to...whatever this was, and he was desperate enough to pull on a cloak and Apparate to Diagon Alley.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

Harry stepped into the Apothecary. The familiar whiff of potion ingredients in the air felt slightly comforting, but he didn't experience the same emotional relief he remembered feeling last time. He glanced around the room, searching for a sign of Malfoy, and was too absorbed in looking for him that he almost didn't notice Mr. Mulpepper walking in.

"Mr. Potter," he said with a smile.

Harry nodded courteously. A few heads turned – the shop had its fair share of customers today, he noticed. Ducking to hide his face, Harry asked, "You had something to speak to me about?"

"Yes, that's right," Mr. Mulpepper stated. "Come right this way, and we can discuss this in a more private manner."

Harry followed the old man through the side door – the same one he had first seen Malfoy through a week or so ago – and found himself in an immaculate storage room for ingredients. Each shelf was organized in glass containers, each one labelled with a single piece of white parchment with green ink printed onto it and tied around the covers. Harry could have spent all day looking through them.

"This was Draco's idea," Mr. Mulpepper said, noting the way Harry was staring. "But this is hardly a suitable place for a chat." He led Harry further in towards the back of the shop, finally stopping at a large wooden door. "My office," he smiled, and motioned for Harry to enter. Harry grasped the knob and pulled, and the door gave way with a heavy creak.

It was a respectable enough office, Harry decided. The traditional filing cabinets, a few frames hung on the walls, and a large table right in the centre of the room littered with papers and stationery. But there was one fixture in the room that Harry wasn't certain he really wanted to see.

Seated in a chair in front of the table was Malfoy.

Malfoy stood up and turned around as the door opened, casting a nonchalant glance at Harry before turning to Mr. Mulpepper. "Sir, what's the meaning of this?"

"I believe I know what's been bothering the pair of you," Mr. Mulpepper said. "Please, take a seat."

Malfoy's expression remained calm, but he balled his hands into fists and remained standing. Harry, likewise, held his ground, wondering what Mr. Mulpepper meant by  _the pair of them._

Mr. Mulpepper sighed. "When are you two going to start acting like grown-ups?" he griped. "Sit down, both of you."

Harry didn't move, knowing that the tie Malfoy had to Mr. Mulpepper as an employee would compel him to obey first. Malfoy's jaw clenched almost imperceptibly, and he waited only one more moment before lowering himself back into his seat, never taking his watchful gaze off of Harry. Satisfied that he had won this round, Harry took the only available chair left right next to Malfoy. Mr. Mulpepper acted oblivious to their brief ego clash and sat down behind his desk, smiling once more.

"Now, before I can properly diagnose either of you, I'm going to need to ask a few questions," he said lightly. "Just to be thorough, you understand."

"I'm not certain why we couldn't have done this separately, sir," Malfoy said.

Mr. Mulpepper ignored him. Harry was wondered if he was hard of hearing or simply used his age as an excuse to casually not hear things. "Firstly, when did these symptoms start?"

Malfoy's expression turned sour and he looked away. Harry decided to be the one to give in first this time. "About a month ago," he stated.

Mr. Mulpepper glanced at Malfoy. "You see, Draco?"

"Purely coincidental," Malfoy responded, maintaining a cold politeness to his tone that could have frozen Fiendfyre. "I hardly see how a mere clashing of dates can dictate –"

"When did you first feel snappish and aggressive without reason, Draco?" Mr. Mulpepper asked, cutting him off.

Malfoy grunted in defeat. "Three weeks."

Mr. Mulpepper turned to Harry. "And, Mr. Potter, when did you feel angry about the unfairness of your Auror trainers?"

"About three weeks," Harry said, not sure where this was going. "But I don't see –"

"And when did you last feel unreasonably depressed over visibly nothing?"

"I don't know. Last, last weekend, maybe?" Harry guessed, sighing.

"So, two weeks ago?"

"Yes."

Mr. Mulpepper turned back to Malfoy. "And when was your father admitted to the hospital, Draco?"

Malfoy gritted his teeth. "Two weeks ago."

Harry was finally beginning to piece everything together. "Mr. Mulpepper, are you saying that Malfoy –"

This time, it was Malfoy who cut him off. "What he's insinuating, Potter, is unimportant, as they are merely wild theories and assumptions."

"I admit, most of this is guesswork," Mr. Mulpepper said pleasantly. "But you cannot possibly ignore the blatantly obvious fact that somehow, both of your conditions are interconnected."

"Conditions?" Harry blinked. "What condition does Malfoy have?"

"You know, Potter, if you had any common courtesy, you'd know that if a person is within earshot, you shouldn't refer to him or her in third person, as if you're ignoring their presence," Malfoy said irritably.

"Well, common courtesy dictates that you shouldn't be a complete prick, either, but you haven't really done that bit yet, have you?" Harry snapped.

Mr. Mulpepper made a clicking noise with his tongue, preventing Malfoy, who was positively livid now, from retaliating. "Tell him what it is you've been experiencing, Draco," he ordered. There was an authority in his voice that demanded submission.

Malfoy sighed, and turned to Harry as politely as he could. "I assure you, I haven't been experiencing anything. My boss is simply concerned with my slightly irregular –"

It finally clicked into place and Harry asked, surprised by his own boldness, "You've been feeling empty, haven't you?"

Malfoy trailed off, then sat back in his seat, and suddenly became very fascinated by an ant ambling past on a wall. Harry watched him, trying to put some of the things he learned at Auror training to good use. Was Malfoy hiding it because it upset him? Did this emptiness originate from him, or was it Harry's fault?

"Well," Mr. Mulpepper said gently, bringing both of their attentions back to him. "If you'd allow me to wildly theorise a little further." He waited to make sure there would be no interruptions, then started to speak. "There is no denying that both of you have been connected in some way or other, causing you to experience each other's emotions. Perhaps this condition is also affecting a few others in the Wizarding world, but from what I can tell, both of you respond to each other, and each other alone. I would also theorise that after you met each other briefly last week at the front counter of this very same apothecary, your conditions worsened, am I right?" Without waiting for an answer, or perhaps knowing he wasn't going to get one, he continued, "This is – if I may make an assumption – because both of you need to be in each other's company so that the emotions you are feeling do not transfer to the other person. I'm not certain as to why this happens yet, or why you have been linked, but this is a start. In fact, I'm sure that if you checked, you'd realise that you aren't feeling quite so empty now, correct?"

With a jolt, Harry realised that he was right. The feeling of emptiness had lessened significantly. He chanced a glance at Malfoy, but his expression was unreadable.

"In all due respect, this is madness, sir," Malfoy said, voice calm as could be, but still unbearably icy. "There is no possible way that Potter and I can be...linked. We have not contacted each other physically in a long time."

"It isn't about duration, Draco," Mr. Mulpepper said soothingly. "Some old spells –"

"I apologise, sir, but this discussion has to be adjourned," Malfoy cut in. "I have some Aconite Fluid to mail to a client." With that, he stood up and strode out of the room, his long, lithe legs taking him away from sight with a poise and grace that Harry couldn't help but envy.

Mr. Mulpepper gave Harry an apologetic sort of grimace. "You'll have to excuse Draco. He's under a lot of stress."

"It's quite alright." Harry's head was a little clearer now, and he had to admit that he didn't think he and Malfoy were connected in any way.

"But you have some faith in my hypothesis?" Mr. Mulpepper questioned.

"Not much, no," Harry said. "Sorry, but it just doesn't seem to fit to me. I mean, why would Malfoy and I be connected? As he said, we haven't really been bosom friends. I hadn't seen him in months when I came into your shop."

Mr. Mulpepper shook his head. "Sometimes, these things are more complicated than we think," he said softly. "Far too complicated for a poor Potioneer like me to figure out." He smiled gently. "Good day, Mr. Potter."

Harry understood himself to be dismissed.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

Draco was fuming all through the rest of the day, and he was still angry the next morning. As he viciously chopped up some Shrivelfig, all he could think about was keeping foreign emotions from his being. He would prove to Mr. Mulpepper that none of the things he was feeling had  _anything_  to do with Potter. At all.

Determination flooding his blood and irritation fuelling him, he proceeded to create the next potion, vowing to make it so perfect that there would be no way that Mr. Mulpepper could assume he was distracted. Besides, if anything, he could always blame it on what was happening to his father.

Sighing, Draco put down his knife for a moment. He did worry quite a lot about his father. The survival rate of those with Scrofungulus wasn't exactly comforting, so it was reasonable for Draco to fret over him. His father insisted that he was fine when he was awake (which was very little, too be honest), but Draco knew better.

Draco shook those thoughts away in favour of focusing on the task at hand. He had never been so determined to prove anybody wrong in his entire life. He would not let  _Potter_  control his life. No. Bloody. Way.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

Proudfoot dashed into the room where Harry and Ron were practising their duelling skills, grasping a memo tightly in his fist and waving a file in the air.

"Our first case?" Ron grinned excitedly, getting distracted enough to forget where he was aiming and burn a hole through a stack of thankfully blank paper.

"Not so fast, Mr. Weasley!" Proudfoot snapped. "This is no laughing matter! There are smugglers huddled up in a building and they are  _extremely dangerous_ , and we simply need more back up! You were the only two I could think of who would be foolish enough to take this job. Now come on! We'll be late!"

Harry grabbed his wand and Ron scrambled to pull his cloak on. They strode out into the hall hurriedly as Proudfoot passed them the memo with Apparation coordinates written on it in messy scrawls that Harry had to squint to make sense of. "Go there immediately. You will find a team waiting for you. Stay out of trouble and let the experts handle it!" Proudfoot ordered. "You are only there as extra back up. You are not permitted to take matters into your own hands. You will have plenty of time to do that when you become full-fledged Aurors. Have I made myself clear?"

A sudden wave of determination rushed through Harry as Ron nodded fervently. It was an irrational sort of brazen rush, and Harry felt as if he simply  _had_  to prove that he was just as good as the "full-fledged Aurors".

"What about you, Mr. Potter?" Proudfoot growled. "Have I made myself clear to you?"

"Crystal," Harry replied, hurriedly trying to remove those thoughts from his mind. He couldn't afford to screw up now. He would have to do exactly as Proudfoot – and any other Aurors on the scene – instructed.

"Good. Now go!" Proudfoot yelled, and he turned a dashed off down the hall, probably in search of Savage or some other Aurors.

Harry and Ron exchanged a glance, then both turned on the spot with the Apparation logistics in mind.

They reappeared in front of a dark hut, which looked like it had been abandoned recently. A window was broken but had been patched up reasonably well with what looked like Spello-tape. Several Aurors – around eight of them – were holding their wands aloft and pointing them at the house. Harry and Ron quickly did the same. Harry could see movement in one of the windows, but there seemed to be some kind of Shield Charm preventing spells from penetrating the glass.

Savage, it turned out, was already at the scene, and his eyes fell on the pair. "I figured Proudfoot'd choose the pair of you," he muttered, then smirked. "Stay back and don't get yourself into this. Both of your jobs are to make sure the smugglers don't escape. Leave everything else to us professionals."

Harry felt that rush of determination again, and subconsciously clenched his hands into fists. He was sick of Savage pushing him around.

"How many of them are there?" Ron asked one of the friendlier Aurors.

"Let's just say we're outnumbered," was the reply.

An Auror up front made a short signal with his left hand.

"We're moving in. You two stay out here," Savage spat.

"Move, move!" someone hissed, and the eight "professional" Aurors made their way towards the door of the hut with smooth, quick movements.

"Why don't we get to help out?" grumbled Ron in a half-whine as the Aurors broke down the front door with a strong  _Reducto_.

"Our time will come," Harry offered without really thinking about it. His mind was on other things, on this fierce feeling that he needed to prove himself to everyone, that he needed to  _show_  them that he was worthy of his future post as an Auror.

Several shouts and blasts the colour of Stunning spells began to erupt from the interior of the hut. A couple of green spells shot past as well, and Harry's determination mounted tenfold. He began to rush towards the hut.

"Harry! Wait, where're you going?" Ron yelled. "We're supposed to stay here!"

Harry ignored him and burst into the hut at full sprint. A pair of people who were definitely not Ministry officials were duelling fiercely with one of the Aurors. Harry Disarmed both of them and the Auror took them out. He barely glanced at Harry before yelling, "What are you doing here, Potter? Get out right now!"

Harry glared at him. He had just saved the guy's arse and this was how he was thanked? His adrenaline rush kicked in and he turned away to use  _Incarcerous_  on another smuggler. He was so absorbed in the fact that he wasn't really all that bad at this that he barely noticed three men exit behind him. By the time he turned around, they were halfway across the lawn. He could hear Ron shouting " _Stupefy_!" and suddenly realised that Ron was completely alone. Harry started to run back out the door when he was hit in the back with a powerful spell that sent him flying off his feet and landing face down on the ground.

And then the world went black.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

Draco sat in the waiting room of St. Mungo's, pointedly ignoring what few glances were cast his way. He'd had a significantly rotten day so far, and he couldn't think what would be worse than deciding to spend his lunch hour visiting his father. He didn't know what made him do it – he just felt like he needed to see him, even if his health was slowly degrading into nothingness in a way that was painful to watch.

A female Healer called his name, and he made to get up. As he stood, however, he felt himself become very weak, as if hit by a spell, even though he knew no one in the room had their wands drawn. His legs gave out beneath him and he tumbled to the floor. There was collective gasp from the room and he was vaguely aware of the Healer rushing towards him, saying "Mr. Malfoy? Mr. Malfoy!"

His vision faded to black.


	5. Chapter 5

White lights seemed to flood in from everywhere. Voices were echoing through Harry's head, and he could feel someone's hand resting on his arm, shaking him gently. Annoyed, he tried to shake the touch off, and was only greeted by a slightly more vigorous shake.

"Harry!" That was Ron's voice for sure, which meant it was his hand trying to wake him up. Harry didn't want to wake up, though. He was so comfortable right now...

There was a sound like a cannon and Harry shot straight up, eyes flying open and limbs flailing embarrassingly around, nearly throwing Ron off his chair.

"Merlin, mate, what's going on with you?" Ron muttered, rubbing his cheek where Harry hit him by accident.

"Sorry," Harry croaked sheepishly, his voice sounding strained. He glanced around and realised that the cannon-like sound he heard had been the sound of the wooden doors of Kingsley's office being roughly shoved open by Savage and Proudfoot.

Harry had been lying across three chairs in the Minister's office. His head was slightly sore and he could feel a bruise forming in his back where he had been hit.

"What happened?" he groaned.

"You acted thoughtlessly and jeopardised the entire darn mission, that's what!" Savage yelled. Proudfoot cast him a warning glance, but it went unheeded. "I specifically told you to stay outside and prevent any escapees from making a run for it! Are you so stubborn and thick-headed that you cannot process simple instructions –"

"That's quite enough." Kingsley's booming voice sounded from behind Harry, and Harry, admittedly, jumped slightly. He hadn't realised the Minister was in the room. "What exactly happened, Harry?"

Harry turned to face him. "I...the Aurors were outnumbered, and I thought –"

"That you could play hero again, huh?" Savage spat. "How many times must I tell you, Potter, the luck that won you the War isn't here anymore? You aren't the Golden –"

"Savage." Kingsley's voice was firm and held unmistakable authority. Savage fell silent, although he still looked positively livid.

"It was very irresponsible of you, Mr. Potter," Proudfoot said coldly. "I specifically remember telling you not to get yourself into trouble and not to interfere with the Aurors' work. You left Mr. Weasley to defend himself outside against three armed and dangerous smugglers. It's a miracle that he managed to take two down before going down himself. If I hadn't Apparated to the scene at that exact moment, Mr. Potter, you would have been responsible for his death."

Harry opened his mouth, turning to Ron, but Ron shook his head. "It's alright, mate. I know you didn't mean it. You weren't acting yourself."

"Speaking of which," Kingsley said, rising from the table and coming to stand in front of Harry. "I've heard several reports from numerous Aurors about your lack of attention and focus during training sessions. With your lack of progress as of late, you can hardly expect to succeed in a fast-paced duel with several smugglers. I expect an explanation. Are you simply not interested in being an Auror any longer? Or are there some problems with your trainers?" He glanced up at Savage warningly.

Harry shook his head. "No, not at all, sir."

"Then what is the problem?" he asked gravely.

"I...I don't know, sir," Harry admitted. "I've been feeling a little off lately."

"A little off?" Savage scoffed. "Is that the best you can do?"

"We aren't blind, Mr. Potter," Proudfoot said. "We've seen your deterioration. It is more than just you feeling slightly off. Even you must be certain of that."

"Yes, I am," Harry said, getting even more annoyed now. "But I don't know what's wrong with me!" His voice rose a lot louder than he'd meant it to.

There was silence for a few moments, and then Kingsley sighed. "Harry, there's no easy way to say this, but I suggest you take a little break."

"A...break?" Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Until you've figured out what's the matter with you."

"Are you...suspending me?" Harry gaped.

"That's the less pleasant way of putting it, but yes," Kingsley said softly. "Mr. Weasley, after your commendable attempts at holding off the smugglers today, I believe you will do fine without a partner until someone else leaves."

"First week of actual cases," Savage muttered. "Someone always leaves."

"But –" Ron looked unsure.

"When can I come back?" Harry asked, cutting him off and standing up a little too quickly, losing balance, then steadying himself again. "Or are you just trying to get rid of me?"

Kingsley ignored the second half of his questions. "You can come back as soon as you figure out exactly what's wrong with you and how to solve it."

"Exactly?" Harry repeated, his fists clenching again.

"Yes, exactly," Kingsley replied. "Your trainee tag, if you will."

Harry felt heat and anger rise within him, but he forced it down, unpinned the tag on his cloak, and passed it to Kingsley. He turned to his trainers and bowed to them in a way that could be interpreted as either forcibly respectful or insolently mocking. And with that, he Apparated out of the building and out into the streets, his fingernails digging red scars into the palms of his hands.

Even worse, now that his head didn't hurt so much, he could feel the emptiness again.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

Draco came to abruptly. It wasn't like those times when he'd passed out and slowly came back into consciousness. He just simply sat up and looked around, vision perfectly clear, feeling in tip-top shape (or as tip-top as he could be with that lingering feeling within him).

In standing up steadily, he startled the Healer who was in the same room as him.

"Oh, Mr. Malfoy, you're awake already." She consulted her clipboard. "That's odd..."

"What happened?" Draco asked harshly, a bit more roughly than he'd intended. Now that he was awake, he felt oddly angry about something.

"To be frank, none of us have a clue," she admitted. "You simply passed out in the waiting room. All your vitals were fine, but you were firmly in a coma-like state no matter what we did, with seemingly no cause. We placed you in this room because we thought you might be confined here for a much longer period of time. But now you've woken up..." She studied him as if he was an odd puzzle.

"Right." Draco was disoriented and confused, but one thing he knew for sure was that he didn't want to stay here. "I'm going to go now, if that's fine by you. I have to get back to work." He consulted his watch – he had five minutes before lunch break was over. He'd have to Apparate there now if he wanted to arrive on time.

"Are you certain?" the Healer asked. "You should probably rest up a little –"

"I'm fine, thanks," said Draco firmly, and with that he shoved open the door and stormed out, unnatural rage nearly obscuring his vision, clouding it with red.

He arrived back at Mr. Mulpepper's right on time, grunted a half-hearted greeting to the man, and then rushed back to the brewing room. He would immerse himself in potion-making for the rest of the day. Perhaps that would diffuse his temper.

As soon as he entered, he turned his attention to the half-done batches of Strengthening Solution he had left to mature over the past few days. They looked about ready to go through the second stage of their production. He measured out an amount of salamander blood and added it into each cauldron. The contents of his vial finished pretty quickly. He was used to producing batches upon batches of potions – multitasking was one of his many talents. Draco winced as he brushed his shoulder accidentally against a shelf while reaching for some more salamander blood – he'd gotten sizable hickey there from last night's exploits. Draco knew that all this sexual activity probably wasn't very good for him, seeing as all it succeeded in doing was numbing the emptiness for half an hour only to induce full-blown guilt the next morning.

He felt angry at himself now – angry for giving in to his urges for companionship, angry for feeling guilty, angry for passing out in the hospital. And angry for several other reasons that he didn't understand. He was even mad at himself for wanting to prove himself to Mr. Mulpepper. He was mad about  _everything_. In fact, he was so pissed off with himself that he didn't notice that he had added pomegranate juice instead of salamander blood to half of the cauldrons. When reaching for the salamander blood, he had taken down the juice instead, and had been too absorbed in his anger to check the label.

He let out a hiss of frustration and completely ignored the ruined potions, turning to the half that were still usable and tossing what he supposed was the right amount of powdered Griffin claw into them. Only when those potions were satisfactorily turquoise did he turn away from them, and to his mild horror, he discovered that Mr. Mulpepper had been standing in the doorway for what was, quite possibly, an immeasurable amount of time.

Draco bowed his head as Mr. Mulpepper strode into the room and right up to one of the five large cauldrons containing completely spoiled Strengthening potion, now nothing but a foul, congealed mess that gave off an odour like burnt rubber.

He surveyed the damage, then turned to Draco. "I excused your insolence at the door, but the fact that you allowed your anger to get the better of you and turn a Fifth Year potion into mush along with all the pricey ingredients that came with it greatly worries me," he said softly. "And the reason is right before you, but you still refuse to see it." He sighed, shaking his head. "If you don't find a solution to your problems, Draco, I'm afraid that it may be time for you to search for employment elsewhere."

"Are you firing me?" Draco asked quietly.

"Firing you? Oh no, my lad, not quite yet," Mr. Mulpepper responded. "I'm merely warning you, and informing you how absolutely disappointed I am in you." He turned away, walking back towards the door. "Bottle up the usable potion. I want all of it ready to be sold by tonight so you can stock the shelves with it for tomorrow." He was out the door before Draco could reply.

"Yes, sir," he murmured to an empty room.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

"You're sure you're alright, Harry?"

Harry glanced up at Hermione and offered her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Yeah. Bit pissed off, that's all."

"And who wouldn't be, given the boot like that?" Ron asked, looking genuinely disgusted. "I can't believe they did that."

"They didn't 'give him the boot', Ron," Hermione said reproachfully. "They just want him to recover so he can perform his best."

Harry didn't say anything. He was half-distracted anyway, feeling especially empty today. As he stared out the windows of a café in Hogsmeade, he couldn't help but wish he was somewhere else.

"...but Harry, you know you can tell us anything."

Harry snapped back to attention, turning to nod at Hermione. "Yeah. Thanks."

She sighed and shook her head. "You didn't hear a single word I said."

Harry glanced out the window again.

"Why won't you tell us what's wrong, Harry?" she asked quietly.

"Because I don't know, myself," he replied.

There was a brief silence, and then a clock chimed in the distance. Hermione gasped and leaped to her feet. "I'm going to be late for History of Magic!" she exclaimed. "It was lovely catching up with you boys. We'll meet again soon, won't we?" Before either could reply, she had grabbed her bag and taken off running down the street.

"Trust her to leave us to pay the bill," Ron grumbled, calling a waiter to their table. "But she's right, you know, Harry."

"What?" Harry asked distractedly.

"You can tell us anything."

He nodded, smiling. "Thanks, mate." He stood up and tossed a few coins onto the table. "I'm going to go for a bit of a walk on my way home. You do well in training, alright?"

"Yeah, sure," Ron replied.

Harry gave him a final wave and took off down the road. As soon as he was out of sight of the café, however, he felt that he didn't quite want to walk anymore. In fact, he had a perfect picture in his mind of where he could go.

Closing his eyes, he spun on the spot and Apparated to Wizarding London.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

Draco was patiently attending to an extremely particular wizard who was inquiring insistently about the quality of the ingredients used in the Calming Draught (which he clearly needed) when the door swung open, admitting Harry Potter to the shop. His cloak was drawn tightly around him, and he looked just about as exhausted as Draco felt.

Potter looked around the shop for a second before glancing up and catching Draco's eye. He gave him a small, tired smile, then proceeded to browse the shelves in a haphazard way that told Draco that he really wasn't interested in purchasing Essence of Dittany.

"Please excuse me for a moment, sir," Draco said politely to his client. Without waiting for a reply, he strode across the room to where Potter was standing.

"What are you doing here, Potter?" he hissed.

Potter didn't turn to look at him. "Just looking, thanks."

"You know perfectly well that I am not comfortable with your being here."

"Then walk away and go back to your customer."

"Potter, I want to know why the fuck you're in this shop."

Finally, Potter put down the jar he was holding and met Draco's exasperated gaze. "Is this your idea of customer service? Because you're practically un-welcoming me and leaving a good, rich customer on the other side of the store unattended."

Draco huffed. "'Un-welcoming' isn't a word when used in that context."

"Well, it is now."

Draco fixed him with a glare. "I'll ask you this one more fucking time –"

"I'm here for peace of mind, alright, Malfoy?" Potter sighed. "Does that answer your question?"

"You know next to nothing about potions. I can't fathom how you can get any peace –"

"Don't you dare tell me that being in my vicinity doesn't reduce that empty feeling you've got right now," Potter said sharply. "That's the only reason I'm here, alright? When I feel up to facing the rest of the world again, I'll leave. Now go back to your customer, and I won't bother you."

Draco's shoulders slumped slightly in defeat before he remembered who he was supposed to be and straightened himself out again. He had to admit that even though it had only been a couple of minutes, Draco could already feel some of the emptiness ebbing away. "Fine," he snapped. "Just don't get yourself into any fucking trouble. I don't need another mess on my hands." He turned to walk away when Potter called after him.

"Sorry. That was probably my fault."

Draco turned around, frowning. "What?"

"Your bad day yesterday was probably my fault," Potter repeated.

"Excuse me?" Draco questioned, cocking an eyebrow. How would Potter know how horrible his day had been?

"I kind of got myself knocked out at training today," Potter said, a trifle sheepishly. "And then I got suspended for it, so I was real angry."

"You...got knocked out," Draco repeated slowly, trying to process it all in his head. This couldn't be true – he couldn't believe Potter was going along with Mr. Mulpepper's wild inferences. "And you were angry."

"That's right, I think I said that," Potter remarked. "Although the reason I got suspended was because I felt oddly determined to prove myself that morning, and it got to my head and I sort of messed up." He gave Draco a long, searching, almost odd look. "You wouldn't have had anything to do with that, right?"

"This is preposterous!" Draco snapped. "We are not connected in any way, Potter."

"I think we are," Potter replied. "I'm just not sure how."

Draco couldn't think of anything to say, so he simply turned and stormed off, back to where his customer was waiting. Mr. Mulpepper flashed the pair of them an interested glance, but thankfully did not approach either of them.

After an hour, Potter left, the bell hanging from the door tinkling softly as it shut behind him. This time, when the emptiness returned, it was worse than ever. Draco was going to have to spend the night with someone again.

 


	6. Chapter 6

But Potter was back again the next day, and the next, and the next. Each time, he only stayed for a little over an hour, and Draco never attempted to approach him. It was about a week later when Mr. Mulpepper came up to Potter while Draco eavesdropped from a shelf where he was supposed to be tagging the bottles of ingredients.

"Mr. Potter, you've been a regular patron of ours as of late."

"Yes, I have."

"Except you haven't been purchasing anything."

"Oh, I'm sorry, will that be a problem? I could pay you for your time, if you like."

"I could never except Galleons for nothing, my boy. Now tell me, what is it that you like so much about the shop?"

"I think you know, sir."

"Tell me anyway."

"I find the shop comforting."

"I don't think that's all of it, Mr. Potter."

"...right. I find it comforting being...just being here."

"Being around Draco, you mean?"

"I suppose you could say that."

"There's nothing shameful about it, Mr. Potter. It's good for Draco as well. The hours you're here are the only ones where he seems relaxed."

Silence.

"You are always welcome in my shop, Mr. Potter."

There was the sound of clicking shoe heels as Mr. Mulpepper walked away, and Draco turned slightly to get Potter into his view. He was glancing at the floor, a peculiar smile on his face. Before Draco could properly think about it, however, he spoke.

"It's rude to eavesdrop, Malfoy."

It took great restraint to keep Draco from leaping a foot in the air at being caught. Luckily, he managed to maintain a relatively composed expression. "I wasn't even remotely aware of your conversation, Potter."

Potter raised an eyebrow, then paced over casually to him, standing very near. Draco backed away automatically before realising what he was doing and firmly rooting his feet in the ground. Potter glanced at the jars on the shelves. "Is that so? Then why are none of these tagged yet?"

Draco cursed inwardly, but smirked outwardly. "If you must be so inquisitive, it is simply because I haven't written the labels yet. I'm simply taking note of how many I will be required to make."

Potter laughed. "Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Malfoy."

Draco glared at him, then pointedly turned on his heel so he wouldn't have to look at that triumphant expression.

"Sulking doesn't really become you," Potter commented.

"Look, Potter, in case you haven't noticed, I'm trying to work here," Draco snapped.

"Why won't you just admit it?" Potter asked.

"Admit what?"

"That you like having me in the shop as much as I like being here."

Draco snorted. "That's because I don't. You're nothing but a nuisance and a distraction. I don't need you here."

"I never said you did."

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a huff of annoyance. This debate was spiralling out of control. "This argument is over, Potter," he said crossly. "Now fuck off so I can work." Angrily, Draco attempted to Charm price labels into obedience with a too-harsh flick of his wand, accidentally sending a few flying slightly off target. He growled, irritated by his lack of practise. He had become rather accustomed to labelling by hand, but he didn't want to look daft in front of the saviour of the Wizarding World.

Oh, too late.

"Need a little help there?" Potter asked, and Draco recognised a mocking tone in his voice. When had their roles reversed? When did Draco start being the idiot who Potter could pick on?

"No. I simply, as I said earlier, find your presence distracting. Perhaps if you heeded my words and fucked off, we wouldn't be in this situation."

Potter exhaled loudly. "You know what? Fine. I'll go. All I was trying to do was be pleasant. You didn't have to fuck it all up."

"If this is your attempt at pleasantry, I'd hate to see you when you're filled with hatred."

Potter turned back to Draco, his expression almost unreadable. "But you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?"

Draco opened his mouth, but no words came out. Potter walked out the front door, slamming the door behind him.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

As pissed off as Harry was at the prick, and despite all the alcohol he consumed later that night, he knew he would be back at the shop the next day. Visiting the apothecary had become his new vice, his new drug – it was the only way for him to find peace and clarity, especially now that he was relatively unoccupied during the day.

Taking another swig from his bottle, he wondered how on earth he could have gotten hooked like this on  _Malfoy_  of all people. If he had to rely on the git for the rest of his life, he was definitely screwed.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

Nightfall saw Draco holding an unfamiliar stranger in his arms. He closed his eyes as the man sunk down over him, enveloping him with warmth. This time, the guilt overwhelmed him from the minute he thrust himself upwards, causing his partner to moan wantonly, his head falling carelessly onto Draco's, dark brown hair tickling his chin distractingly.

The guilt remained, even as Draco brought his partner to climax with a well-practised hand, and even as he reached his own peak.

It didn't even take thirty seconds for the stranger to stand up and get dressed. "You want me to pay for the room?" he asked, just before leaving.

Draco shook his head, not even moving from where he lay.

The guy turned to go, then paused and turned back. "You know, you could've at least  _pretended_  to enjoy it."

Draco didn't reply, turning on his side so he wouldn't have to face the man anymore. He didn't stir, even long after the wooden door had clicked shut, even as the stranger's footsteps faded away. He didn't have the strength to, not anymore.

And damn it, he wished he hadn't pissed Potter off so much. Maybe he needed him around after all.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

Harry could clearly see from Hermione's face that she was thinking. The way she surveyed him carefully and seemed to attempt to take in every single move he made wasn't obvious to the occasional passerby, but it was certainly obvious to him.

Sighing across the table as he took a sip of his coffee, he gave in. "Hermione, I'm fine."

She frowned, clearly not believing him, and turned her attention to her relatively untouched meal. Ron hadn't been able to join them due to increasingly demanding Auror training, and Harry wished he was here, because he would be able to distract both of them with horrid tales of Savage's intense hatred and injustice. Now, as neither he nor Hermione were really talkers, there was plenty of time to think and interpret each word being said.

"I've seen you in the Prophet a lot more often than I used to," Hermione muttered.

"That's natural, seeing as I've practically been given the boot by the Ministry," Harry replied with a small, not-entirely-genuine smile. "The Golden Boy, fallen from grace. That's why I don't read those rubbish newspapers anymore."

"You should; it'll keep you updated," Hermione advised. "Besides, your face isn't plastered to the front covers, Harry. It's just little snapshots of you going out and about – something you haven't done for a while."

"You  _did_  want me to try and keep myself busy, didn't you?" Harry sighed.

"Harry, you've been spotted in the exact same area day after day, usually right after the meals we have," Hermione said, more seriously now. "What have you been doing?"

"I like going for walks, alright?" Harry groaned. "And that's the point I like to Apparate to. What's wrong with that?"

"It isn't wrong, it's just that..." Her voice trailed off.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"Nothing."

Frustrated, Harry leaned back in his seat. "Hermione, you have to stop worrying about me."

Hermione watched him for a moment. "I'm just concerned, you know that. You haven't really been  _you_  for a while now. I miss  _you_."

Harry looked down at his plate. "Yeah. I'm sorry. I'm getting there."

"But where are you getting there  _from_ , Harry?" she demanded, sounding exasperated.

"I told you, I'm not really sure yet," Harry said. "And it's not as if I don't want to find out, you know. I have to figure out what it is if I want to get back into training. So don't rush me, Hermione. I'm trying the best I can."

She looked doubtful, but she nodded. Harry brought up Hogwarts, which she seemed eager enough to discuss. He breathed a soft sigh of relief. Hopefully they'd get through the rest of lunch without having to talk about what was wrong with him again. He was starting to feel like a fascinating mental case for St. Mungo's.

Eventually, they each paid their share and Harry watched Hermione trudge back up the Hogsmeade trail leading to Hogwarts. Being an "eighth-year", she was allowed to leave Hogwarts for a meal or supplies at any time. Harry wondered vaguely if his life would be easier if he had just returned to Hogwarts.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

The bell chimed quietly, signalling his entry into the apothecary, and Harry winced slightly at the noise. He didn't want to be announced, because he wasn't sure how he was going to be taken.

"Mr. Potter, you're back again," Mr. Mulpepper called by means of greeting from where he was packing flasks into paper bags, and Harry ducked his head in response. He turned around, searching, but couldn't seem to find what he was looking for.

"Where's Malfoy?" he asked.

"He's in the storeroom," came the reply. "Poor lad hasn't felt too well today."

"May I?"

Mr. Mulpepper positively beamed and nodded, extending his arm in the direction of the door. Pushing politely past the line at the counter, Harry ducked through the shelves and placed his hand on the doorknob, hesitated for a moment, then gently pushed the door open.

Malfoy was sitting down on a crate, a tired sigh just leaving his lips as he tagged some jars with lazy flicks of his wand. It wasn't anything like his attempt at putting price tags on them the previous day – he was labelling each ingredient with precision, knots tying around lids as parchment with clear writing attached to them. Harry had only a moment to admire the ease with which he handled magic before Malfoy sat up rigidly at the sound of the opening door, registered his presence, and huffed, putting his wand away.

"What do you want?" he asked wearily.

"Look, I'm..." Harry took a deep breath. "...sorry."

Malfoy smirked, but Harry could see it took all of his effort to upturn even that corner of his lips. "Do my ears deceive me, or did Harry Potter just apologise, and to a Slytherin no less?" He stood up, and Harry nearly instinctively ran forwards to prevent him from falling over – he looked so very weak.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked, firmly stopping himself from moving from where he was.

Malfoy chuckled. "Is this you making empty small talk again, or is it you being concerned?"

"What do you think?" Harry shot back. "You look like shite."

"Thanks, Potter."

"You know what I meant."

Malfoy sighed, then shook his head. "I just don't get it."

"What?"

"Why it has to be you of all people who I've ended up being dependant on."

Harry cocked an eyebrow. "So, you admit it?"

"It's a little impossible not to," Malfoy replied, shifting slightly in his seat. "Within the five minutes you have been in this shop, my head has already cleared. I like to think of myself as highly intelligent, Potter, and I cannot ignore evidence."

"Do you know why it's happening, though?" Harry asked.

"I was under the impression that no one does," Malfoy said, taking his wand out again and resuming his tagging work. Harry watched as labels with strings attached tied themselves around lids of bottles, jars and flasks. Although Malfoy worked pretty quickly, Harry could see he had hundreds of tags left to put on.

So he drew his wand, too.

"What are you doing?" Malfoy asked, half-suspiciously.

Harry flicked his wand, and a tag attached itself to a small jar. "Helping."

Malfoy sighed. "I don't need your help."

Harry quirked an eyebrow, and Malfoy sighed again.

"Fine," he snapped. "Just don't mix the tags up, or I'll kick you the fuck out of here myself."

Harry grinned, a real smile, for the first time in a while, and flicked his wand again. Tags flew onto the shelves, fixing to bottle caps effortlessly. He could get used to this.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

For the next few days, Draco got carried away. Potter came to visit the store and help out every day after lunch hour, and Draco found himself looking forward to his arrival every day. It wasn't for any personal reasons – it was just because of the relief from the emptiness that Potter brought with him. Draco didn't actually  _like_  him or enjoy his company or anything like that.

Before he could shake the thought away, the front door opened, accompanied by the familiar creaking of hinges and tinkling of bells, and Potter strode in.

"Afternoon, Mr. Mulpepper," Draco heard Potter.

"Afternoon, Mr. Potter. Draco's in the brewing room."

A few moments later, Draco heard footsteps approaching the open door and looked up, offering a faint smile to Potter as he approached the room.

"What are you making today?" Potter asked, pacing into the room and glancing around.

"An Invigoration Draught," replied Draco. "I'm experimenting with ways to make it more effective."

"Really?" Potter sounded interested. "My house elf gives me a variation of those whenever I've got a hangover."

"Get hung-over often?"

"More than you'd expect," Potter replied with a half-smile. "Can I be of any use?"

"Don't touch anything and try not to distract me," Draco said firmly, trying to sound harsh but probably failing.

"As usual," Potter remarked.

Draco ignored him, stirring the potion lightly. It was simple enough to make on its own, but his experiments sometimes ended in great explosions that had Mr. Mulpepper running towards the room with his wand drawn. He had since learned, however, that if he left Draco alone with the mess for half an hour, the room would be good as new when he came to inspect it.

As Potter looked curiously at a cluster of multi-coloured vials, Draco added two scruples of Fluxweed into the simmering potion. Although it was strictly used in Polyjuice Potion, Draco was certain that the healing properties might be able to boost the invigorating properties of the potion he was working on. Carefully, he stirred the cauldron's contents, eager to see results. Slowly but surely, the colour of the potion morphed to a mustard sort of hue.

And then the potion began to bubble.

"Fuck," Draco said, realising what was about to happen before it did.

There was a deafening  _boom!_  that knocked Draco off his feet and sent him sprawling to the floor as the potion exploded, sending chunks of gooey liquid splattering messily around the room. When his ears stopped ringing, Draco looked up to see that Potter was also on the floor, a rather large amount of yellow substance covering most of his clothes. It was a pity – Draco was rather fond of that dark green shirt Potter wore.

Because it was a Slytherin colour, of course, not because it looked good on him or anything.

Mr. Mulpepper dashed into the room, but he looked relatively relaxed. He was used to Draco's failed experiments and, while he did not encourage them, did his best to indulge Draco's inquisitive nature whenever he could. "Everyone alright in here?" he smiled pleasantly.

"Fan-bloody-tastic," Potter muttered, sitting up and cleaning potion off of his glasses.

"A mere minor miscalculation on my part," Draco said quickly, standing up and pulling out his wand, casting nonverbal  _Reparo_ s on a few shattered vials. "I should have turned to flames off when I added the Fluxweed."

"Fluxweed? In an Invigoration Draught? Ingenious!" Mr. Mulpepper exclaimed. "Well, make sure you clean this place up, boys." With that, he stepped over a pile of yellow gunk and walked out the door.

Potter stood up, casting  _Scourgify_  on himself, then on everything in sight. Draco followed suit, and they worked in silence together. The room was cleaned up in record time, and by the end of the quarter hour, Draco was starting on a new batch, ignoring all off Potter's joking remarks about his miscalculations. He didn't mind the chatter – he actually found it enjoyable.

Because it was like background noise, in a sense, and kept him occupied. Not because he liked listening to Potter, or anything like that.

"Too bad we don't have a camera," Potter joked. "I would have loved to take a photo of you looking so dazed – a rare moment."

"At least I didn't appear as graceless as you, Potter." Malfoy shot back.

"Harry," Potter said quietly.

"Excuse me?"

"It's Harry," Potter repeated. "We've spent time together for weeks, almost gotten blown up together, and are connected in some way or other. I'm pretty sure that calls for first-name basis."

Draco laughed. "Keep dreaming, Harry."

"You said it, though," Potter said, looking oddly pleased.

"Said what?"

"My first name."

Draco started, realising that he had. For some reason, it had been automatic to him, once given permission. "Harry," he tried again, interested in the way the name seemed to roll off his tongue effortlessly, as if he hadn't spent years trying not to use it. It was weird, but a good kind of weird.

"That's better," Harry smiled. "Now, can I help with that? I can try to stave off explosions."

Draco sighed, then nodded. "I suppose, as long as you aren't an insufferable prick about it."

"See, Draco, we're learning to be civil," Harry jibed.

Draco liked the way his name sounded when Harry said it – it felt natural. "I don't think it's me who needs the lesson in manners," Draco shot back. He held the Fluxweed over the potion for the second time, turning the heat down. He glanced at Harry, who had drawn his wand again to prepare for any mistakes. "Ready?" he asked.

Harry nodded. "Ready."

Draco dropped the Fluxweed into the cauldron. The potion turned blue again, starting to bubble, but Harry drew some sort of pattern with his wand, and it simmered down a little.

And then one splatter escaped the cauldron and hit Draco squarely in the face. Thankfully, it wasn't scalding hot, just warm, but it made quite a mess all the same.

"You prick!" Draco burst out as Harry doubled over with laughter. "You did that on purpose!"

"Did not!" Harry grinned.

They were so busy arguing that they almost let the potion explode again, but they managed to save it and Draco had a full flash of dark red liquid by the end of their experimentation. All in all, a productive day.

Draco figured he could get used to this.


	7. Chapter 7

_Chapter 7_

A week later, Harry was talking to a customer about a certain product, having become quite knowledgeable about some of the potions in the shop, while Draco manned the counter. He had just been in the shop for about ten minutes, but there was always work to be done here. Some of the regulars already recognised him, and Harry realised that when he wasn't trying too hard to hide from the press or fans, it was easier for him to go by unnoticed. The man he was speaking to now didn't even blink when Harry gave his name as Mr. Potter. Either the man didn't recognise him at all, or he simply didn't care about Harry's origins. That was the best part – he was safe in this shop. Potions would never be his passion, but it was a good way for him to occupy his time, and neither Draco nor Mr. Mulpepper seemed to mind.

The door swung open and Harry turned to smile at the new customer, only to feel his smile fade quickly off his face when he saw Hermione striding up to him decisively.

"Hermione, what –"

"We need to talk, Harry." Her voice was stern, and Harry had a sudden realisation that he was sometimes rather afraid of her and would listen to anything she said when she used that tone of voice on him. Then again, who wouldn't?

Harry smiled at his customer. "Excuse me, sir," he said, and allowed himself to be pulled to a more discreet location in a corner of the shop.

"What are you doing here?" he hissed at Hermione, who shot him a glare in return.

"That's what I should be asking you," she said, sounding cross. "Is this where you've been?" she asked, looking around the shop quickly before turning to face him again. "I simply thought you'd gotten addicted to some sort of potion, but I walk in and find you're working here! You never told Ron or me about this new job!"

"You were following me!" Harry accused.

"It doesn't matter! Now when did you decide to become a Potioneer?"

_She really does need to sort out her priorities._  "I'm not working here, Hermione!" Harry snapped. "I'm just helping out."

"And why did you choose this place?" Hermione challenged. "I'm not an idiot, Harry. You have to have chosen this place for a reason."

Nervously, Harry glanced over at the counter, where Draco was watching the scene unfold with concerned blue-grey eyes. Unfortunately, his small movement was all Hermione needed. She turned to look in the direction he was, and her jaw visibly dropped. It took a few moments for her to compose herself and look at him again, a fire in her eyes.

"Why are you working with him?" she hissed through gritted teeth.

"I..." Harry knew there was no easy way to explain this. "He...I..."

"Is this what's been bothering you, Harry?" she asked persistently. "Is this why you've been acting so strange? Because if you're being threatened or forced to do something you don't want to –"

"Woah, woah, Hermione, slow down," Harry cut in. "I'm not being blackmailed. Draco and I –"

"Oh, he's  _Draco_  now?"

"Will you just listen to me?" snapped Harry. "Draco and I have been...sort of connected. I can't quite figure out how."

"Are you trying to come out of the closet?" she inquired, looking perfectly exasperated.

"No, no! Merlin, I'm going about this all wrong," Harry groaned. "Can you...sit down for a moment? There's a chair in front of the counter –"

"I am not taking a step near Malfoy until you tell me what's going on!"

Harry sighed. "Fine. Then wait here." He paced over to where Draco was.

"Granger have a problem?" Draco asked, carelessly counting Sickles.

"Yeah, you see, I haven't quite told her about..." Harry gestured lamely between them. "...this connection stuff."

Draco frowned, then nodded. "I see."

"If you don't mind, I need to...sit her down," Harry said apologetically.

Draco sighed, moving away from the counter. "It's all yours. Please at least attempt to count some of the coins while you're at my station."

Harry smiled gratefully, waited for Draco to disappear behind some shelves, and gestured for Hermione to sit down at the counter. She came over, eyeing the back of Draco's head apprehensively.

"Look, here's the gist of it..." Harry explained everything that had been going on to Hermione, including the details about how Mr. Mulpepper inferred that they were experiencing connected symptoms, because he knew she'd want to know every single little bit of information. She even started asking some questions of her own, which Harry answered as patiently as he could. When he was finished, she had an odd, thoughtful look about her.

"I think I understand, now," she said, almost to herself. "And it all should make sense, but it doesn't; it doesn't!"

"What are you going on about?" Harry asked, even though he knew the chances of his getting a straight answer were rather slim.

"It's so simple, but something's missing from the equation," she muttered.

"What is it?" Harry repeated.

"I just can't put my finger on it, but it's there –"

"Hermione!" Harry burst out. "What are you talking about?"

"Harry, you and Malfoy have been Bound!" Hermione exclaimed. "That's the only reasonable explanation, yet there's a factor missing – "

"Wait, wait, what do you mean,  _bound_?" he gulped. "Like...Dark Arts Bound? Or...marriage Bound?"

"Don't be silly, Harry," Hermione said irritably. "From what you've told me, it's got certain elements of the Marriage Bond, but that wouldn't enable you to feel each other's emotions! What I'm understanding from this is that it's a lot deeper than that, and it's as if something is trying to force both of you together."

"And how do I make it go away?" Harry questioned.

"Which part of the there's-a-missing-factor bit did you not understand?" Hermione snapped. "I can't figure all of it out in ten seconds, Harry. But I can suggest that you and Malfoy spend as much time together as possible."

"That's what I'm doing, aren't I?" Harry said. "That's why I'm here."

"No, Harry, that isn't what I meant," Hermione sighed. "What the Bond you've developed is trying to do is push both of you together. The only way to neutralise its effects until we know what caused it would be to give in to what it wants."

"What are you saying here?" Harry demanded.

"I'm just suggesting that if both of you...crashed with each other for a while –"

Harry's eyes widened in a way that might have been comical, had the situation not been so serious. "No! No way! I am not moving in with that git –"

"Why not? You seem pretty chummy to me," Hermione replied, without batting an eyelash.

"Can't I just go on doing what I'm doing, visiting him every day?" Harry asked. "Isn't this a bit too much?"

"No, Harry, that's not how Bonds works!" Hermione snapped, looking extremely frustrated. "Don't you realise that you've been spending more and more time at this damn shop each day?"

"How would you know that?"

"Timestamps on the newspaper photos," Hermione replied, looking annoyed that he had to ask. "And I'd gather that you feel worse each time after you leave."

"How are you getting all these conclusions?" Harry groaned, nearly sending silver coins scattering messily across the table in his frustration.

"It's just an intelligent guess, Harry," Hermione sighed. "Anyway, my point is –"

"No! Hermione, we're not going to move in together!"

A hush fell over the shop, and Harry realised that he'd spoken too loudly. Hermione flushed scarlet and frowned at him as Draco came over, a warning look in his silver eyes.

"Is it so difficult for you both to keep your voices down, or are you always this excitable?" he asked, half-disapproving, half-exasperated.

Hermione took a precautionary step back. "I...I was just trying to convince Harry here that moving in together was a good idea."

Draco cocked an eyebrow. "Oh? Harry never mentioned a girlfriend."

"I wasn't referring to myself," Hermione snapped, gathering a little courage. "I meant with you."

Draco laughed – it was humourless. "Is this a far-fetched little theory or fantasy of yours, Granger?"

Hermione went even redder. "How dare you suggest –"

Draco held up his hands in mock-surrender. "I jest," he said non-comically. "But I must confess that I don't understand what has led you to make this statement."

Hermione drew herself up to her full height, reminding Harry of a cat ready to spring. He recognised that look – she was about to make an intellectual argument. "I believe that you and Harry have been Bound by some means I do not yet understand." She paused, as if waiting for him to argue so she could prove her point, but he didn't. Instead, he looked thoughtful for a moment.

Several moments passed before he muttered, "Yes, that would explain quite a lot."

Hermione's shoulders sagged slightly in a mixture of relief and shock before she asked, "Are you mocking me?"

"No," Draco replied matter-of-factly. "I don't understand why I didn't see it before, to be frank."

Hermione's jaw dropped – a Malfoy was admitting to making a mistake.

"But how could we have been Bound?" Draco went on, frowning slightly. "We made no contact with each other for several months beforehand."

"That's what I don't understand," Hermione said warily. She paused for a few moments before straightening her shoulders again, a curious gleam in her eyes. Harry recognised this, too – it was the look she used when she was about to have an intelligent conversation with an intellectual person. "But you see now why I've suggested you both move in together."

Draco shook his head, performing all the calculations easily in his head, already mostly understanding what had taken Harry several explanations to grasp. "We cannot be 100% positive that both parties experience the feeling of increasing loss – "

"He does," Hermione cut in. "I asked him. And if you had simply done just that earlier instead of pretending not to care about it, you might've figured it out weeks prior."

Draco's eyes flashed at the challenge, but he remained mostly calm. "You understand, of course, that I cannot possibly endorse this idea of yours. Although it would, without a doubt, ease the discomfort, I rather like to believe that both of us can handle it rather well, seeing as we've dealt with worse things in the past."

If Hermione was thrown off by his implications, she did not show it. "And you understand, of course, that within a few months both of you would have become so crippled by the effects of this Bond that the only way to neutralise them would be to force you two together in ways you probably would not be happy with."

Draco clamped his mouth shut, looking away, and Harry could've sworn his usually pale face coloured. Hermione looked triumphant.

"What?" Harry asked, not sure what was going on.

Hermione ignored him. "You know I'm right, Malfoy. The only way to avoid such a situation from occurring would be to stave it off."

"I don't believe this," Draco groaned, burying his face in his hands.

"I don't understand," Harry said, frustrated, but once more, he was ignored.

"It's pointless to fight against a bond this powerful," Hermione went on as Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, looking rather upset. "Let it get too far, and it'll either be going to that extreme, or simply becoming crippled by the Bond's effects, and I'm certain you'd have to go with the former."

"What's the former?" Harry practically yelled.

"We aren't even fully aware of the Bond's strength –" Draco attempted.

"It was certainly strong enough to bring both of you together," Hermione said calmly. "It'll compel you into performing acts I'm not sure you want to perform."

"There's no need to spell it out," shot back Draco.

"Actually, yes there is! What is going on?" Harry questioned.

Hermione was focused on Draco. "That's how Bonds work, Malfoy. If ignored, they get stronger and stronger until the only option left is that one."

"Guys!" Harry finally shouted, bringing himself to attention. Hermione and Draco turned to look at him, as did half the patrons in the shop. He lowered his voice a little. "Do you mind going a little slower, for the less genius people here?"

Hermione furrowed her brow, as if realising the reason Harry hadn't been sorted into Ravenclaw. "If you don't stave off the Bond's effects, it'll end up drawing you closer and closer until the only way to relieve the strong connection would be to get as close as possible."

"Meaning...?"

Draco rolled his eyes and muttered something about ignorance under his breath before turning away and sinking into one of the chairs in front of the counter.

"Meaning, Harry," Hermione said patiently, "that you'd both have to get...very close indeed."

It took a few moments for those words to sink in, and when they did, Harry's eyes widened and flicked to Draco for a few short moments before darting back to Hermione again. "That...can't..." He trailed off, unsure of what to say. "But I'm not gay!" he ended up protesting weakly.

"I doubt your sexuality will matter much when you're consumed by agonising –"

"Salazar, you don't have to paint a picture!" Draco exclaimed, standing up defiantly again and turning to her. "Look, Granger, I appreciate the concern, but –"

"Don't flatter yourself," she said coldly. "I'm doing this for Harry. And if you're the only one who can make him see sense, I don't have much of a choice than to include you, do I?"

Draco didn't even flinch, but his gaze turned icy. "Touching. My point is that I will not agree to moving in with Potter." Harry registered the use of his surname and resisted the urge to turn to him and tell him to relax.

"And why not?" Hermione snapped. "Because you boys and your egos just don't know when to quit?"

Draco glared at her for several moments, then said quietly, "I think you'd better leave."

Hermione's gaze was fierce and challenging and would've sent many people running in fear, but Draco barely even moved. "Fine," she said. She turned to Harry. "I hope you'll be the one to see sense first. I don't want to have to clean up any messes." With that, she turned and strode right out the door.

Harry didn't move, torn between running after her to apologise (potentially having to face her fury alone) and staying here with a very pissed off Draco. He didn't have to make the decision, though, as Draco turned on his heel and walked through a side door, slamming it behind him. Harry heard the click of a lock.

Sighing, he slunk down onto the chair behind the counter and resumed the mundane task of counting out Galleons, wondering when his life had started spinning so completely out of control.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

Neither Draco nor Harry spoke about the incident with Hermione for the next few days. Things were strained between them, and Draco had taken to calling Harry "Potter" again, which he found very unfair, because he hadn't done anything wrong.

It wasn't until a little over a week later that Mr. Mulpepper decided to do something about it. It was a lazy afternoon, and business hadn't quite been on a roll. The shop was empty and Draco was sitting at the counter reading some potions book while stirring a cup of tea. Harry was seated rather rigidly in front of him, pretending to be immersed in a piece of parchment with nothing on it.

Mr. Mulpepper approached them, sat on the remaining stool, and smiled. "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with that delightful girl last week."

Neither person responded, although Harry could almost hear Draco's unspoken  _oh, here we go_.

"I think she's quite right," he went on pleasantly. "Perhaps if both of you stepped back and viewed the situation with objective eyes, you might agree with me."

Harry turned away, tossing the parchment in his hands into a trash bin in the corner, just to give himself something to do. Draco pretended not to be listening.

"Now I can see how difficult this must be for both of you, but surely you don't want to end up having intimate relations with each other just because of your stubbornness," Mr. Mulpepper added.

At that moment, both Draco and Harry snapped. "There will be none of that!" exclaimed Draco indignantly at the same time that Harry said "That's not going to happen!"

"Then you understand that moving in to one house would benefit both of you in the long term," Mr. Mulpepper replied smoothly. "Anyway, I'll leave both of you to make your arrangements." He swept out of the room, humming softly to himself.

Harry sighed after a few moments. "Draco, you know he's right."

"Don't even try, Potter."

"I'm not being unreasonable or anything here!" Harry snapped. "Honestly, I'd much rather move in with you than end up fucking you because I have no choice!"

Draco turned to glare at him, and Harry waited for the storm to hit. With a carefully guarded tone, he said, "What makes you think  _you'll_  be fucking  _me_?"

Harry's jaw nearly dropped. Of all the impossible things he'd said in that sentence, Draco had chosen to pick up on that? "I'm not getting into technicality or anything, I'm just saying –"

"That because you're straight and I'm gay, you get to take control?" Draco asked, smirking coyly. "I've never let anyone fuck me before, and I don't plan to start with you."

Harry felt his cheeks heat up. "I didn't say anything of that sort!" He paused, then realised what Draco had said and asked with a tone of surprise, "You're gay?"

Draco made a clicking sound with his tongue. "The Prophet published a story on that nearly half a year ago, Potter. Where have you been?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't read the Wizarding papers much anymore."

"I shan't fault you there," Draco sighed. He stopped for a moment, as though thinking, then said, "Why do you believe that such an action would be a good idea?"

"I didn't say it would be!"

"I meant moving in together, Potter," Draco drawled with a roll of his eyes. "Really, it's incredible that you're able to carry a conversation with those slow wits of yours."

"There's no need to insult me," Harry said, annoyed. "And I don't think it's a wonderful idea that'd have us riding off into the sunset –" Draco snorted here, and Harry shot him a pointed glance. " – but it'd definitely be better than the other option."

"Yes, the alternative is far less appealing," Draco agreed quietly. "However, moving in together would probably result in a swift demolishing of whatever house we're living in."

"Seeing as it'll probably be my godfather's old house, I think not," Harry replied. "That building has withstood a lot."

"What makes you think we'll be staying in your place?" Draco inquired.

Harry groaned – were there no limits to a Malfoy's pride? "Because I have a responsibility to that house, you git. It isn't always about you, you know."

They stared at each other for a moment, cold grey eyes boring into bright green ones. Harry could feel the heatedness of Draco's gaze, he could feel the fire building within it – Draco was sizing him up. It took all his efforts not to squirm under that stare. How had he ever done this at Hogwarts without feeling subconscious? He recalled meeting that penetrating gaze on several occasions without blinking, instead goading Draco on with his own equally hostile glance. Harry narrowed his eyes daringly into a glare, the same way he remembered doing before.

Finally, Draco broke eye contact and shook his head. "I have a Muggle apartment. I'd much rather we move in there."

"I can't do that," Harry replied shortly.

"What sort of responsibilities do you have to a bloody house?" Draco questioned.

"First of all, there's Kreacher. I can't leave him alone," Harry began, but before he could go on, Draco cut in.

"Kreacher? The house elf, Kreacher?" he asked, looking mildly surprised.

"Well, yeah," Harry said, taken aback. "Why?"

Draco didn't reply, instead glancing down at the floor for a few moments before saying quietly, "So he's still there," he murmured. "I visited that house every year until I turned five." He glanced up at Harry and frowned, not seeming to notice Harry's surprise at the admission. "I remember a Grand-aunt Wulburga lived there – not a very hospitable woman."

_Yeah, you're telling me_ , Harry thought as his mind flew back to the portrait of the late Mrs Black still stuck on his wall. He wondered vaguely if Draco would mind it being there, but didn't dare to bring it to light. "Your grand-aunt?" he asked instead. "Were you related immediately, or...?"

"Yes. She was my grandfather Cygnus' sister," Draco replied. "Why does that matter to you?" he inquired sharply.

"I'm just curious, that's all," Harry said hastily. "There's a tapestry with the Black family tree on it in the house, and I remember seeing your name there, but I never paid much attention to it." He smiled lightly. "Perhaps that's how we're connected – we're distantly related, you know."

Draco laughed hollowly. "I don't think so, Potter."

"Many Pureblood families are related," said Harry, who found himself getting more irked with each mention of his surname. "You're related to Neville, too. I can prove it to you."

Draco sniffed. "I didn't mean that I didn't believe that we were related, Potter. I merely meant that I doubt that's how we are connected. Otherwise, I would have experienced similar problems with McMillan and Flint, and that horrible Bulstrode girl."

Harry shrugged. "Fine. But until we come to an agreement on how to keep this bond at bay, there's no way we're going to be able to clear up what's really connecting us. Not with all these distractions."

Draco smirked, then said, "A very compelling argument." He stood up. "Very well, Potter. If need be, I will move in with you. But keep in mind that this whole affair is your idea, and not mine."

"Sure," said Harry, not fazed in the slightest. "And you keep in mind, when we figure it out, that we'd never have done it without my input."

Draco snorted, but Harry detected a smile under the facade. "It's on, Potter," he said.


	8. Chapter 8

Draco wasn't sure who was more excited about his agreement to stay under the same roof as Harry (yes, he still thought of him by first name; it was a little hard to go back on things like that) – Mr. Mulpepper, who offered to give Draco a month of paid leave so that he could get used to things (he denied that, of course; who would want to be stuck in a house with a Gryffindor all day long?) or that Granger girl, who was the first person Harry contacted about it and Apparated into the shop the next day to throw her arms around him. Draco still wondered if there was something more than friendship going on between both of them, but Harry fervently denied it, so he gave it the benefit of the doubt.

Two days later, Draco brought a suitcase filled with the basic necessities and followed Harry to Grimmauld Place after work. He didn't think he'd have to stay for long – if he could bring himself to ask Granger for assistance, they should be able to figure out what was causing the bond in no time.

When Harry led him in through the front door, the first thing Draco noticed before anything else was the troll leg umbrella stand in the corner. He remembered it from his younger days – he'd eyed it with fascination and attempted to clamber over it at some point. He also saw a large black square covered in dark curtain that he didn't remember being there before.

Harry noticed him staring at it and whispered, "You don't want to see what's behind there."

"Why are you whispering?" Draco asked.

"Shh!" Harry snapped, glancing at the dark square worriedly. "I'll tell you later, come on." He started to lead the way up the stairs, and when Draco didn't immediately follow, he turned and yanked on his arm, leading him up the steps. Draco was immediately surprised by the warmth that seemed to exude from Harry's grip – it spread even through Draco's black jacket and almost paved itself across his own skin. Draco pulled his arm away, muttering something about being able to walk well enough on his own, thank you very much. Luckily, Harry ignored him, because Draco wasn't a hundred percent sure that what he said came out in a grammatically correct sentence.

Once they were on the first floor, Harry led the way down a narrow sort-of-hallway and pointed to the first door on the right. "That'll be the bathroom," Harry said lightly. "And this –" He pointed to the door right after it. " – is your room. You can dump your suitcase inside."

Draco swung open the door. It was spotless, but looked like it hadn't been used in ages. There were two beds on either corner of the room, and stood next to each of them was a cupboard. He carelessly threw his worn-out suitcase on the bed nearest the window. A part of him wanted to ask who'd slept there before, but he figured he probably wouldn't like the answer.

He stepped out and closed the door behind him, and Harry led him out of the sort-of hallway and turned to the right, then motioned to a larger door. "This is what I use as the living room," he explained. Draco peered in – it had three worn sofas arranged around a fireplace. He didn't bother scrutinising it. "You're more than welcome to use it at any time, but hopefully you won't mind sharing." He smiled. "Do you want a tour?"

Draco shook his head.

"Alright. My room is right upstairs, second door on the right, if you ever need me," Harry said lightly. He turned to go.

"Potter," Draco said. "Wait."

Harry turned back and cocked his head to one side like a confused owl. Draco wasn't sure why, but the gesture seemed quite adorable.

"I appreciate your offering your home as a place for us to work this bonding situation out," Draco stated stiffly. "Clearly, hospitality isn't your key point and it must be very difficult for you to allow anyone into your home with such lack of social graces."

Well. It wasn't supposed to come out like that.

To Draco's immense surprise, instead of getting pissed off by the insult, Harry grinned, momentarily dazing Draco. From shock, of course, not from anything else.

"Anytime, Draco," he said, and then he was disappearing up the staircase.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

The next morning, Harry was awoken by the sound of someone pounding on the door to his bedroom. He groaned, glancing at the clock – it was only seven in the morning.

"Potter!" Draco's voice reached his ears and he forced himself to sit up.

"What?" he called back, and flushed when he realised that his voice was embarrassingly groggy.

There was a pause, then, "I have a job to keep, Potter! Are you coming along, or do I have to drag your arse out of bed myself?"

Harry collapsed back onto the bed. "Not at this ungodly hour!" he said.

There was a whispered  _Alohomora,_ then the door burst open and Draco paced into the room as if he owned it. Harry dragged his blankets farther up his bare chest and glared at him. Draco was dressed in Muggle clothing, as he always was, and was in the same dark jeans he had been wearing the first time Harry saw him. He noticed that they hugged his legs almost perfectly – did the idiot have them tailored or something? He also found that he quite liked the light blue, long-sleeved shirt Draco had on – it was a good change from his usual black and made his eyes stand out a lot more than usual. Harry's eyes trailed over him one more time before he came to his senses. What was he doing?

Must be the drowsiness. "This is an invasion of privacy," Harry muttered. "You can't just barge in to my room like this. What if I was naked?"

"Then I suppose I would have attempted to enjoy the view," said Draco nonchalantly, crossing his arms. "Now, are you going to get dressed or not?"

"Why do I have to go with you?" Harry groaned. "Can't I just come in later as usual?"

Draco stared at him as if he had lost his mind. "After spending an entire night in the same vicinity, you think separation for any reason would be a good idea? Do you know nothing about Bonds?"

"Not really," Harry admitted. "Is the Bond really that powerful, though? I mean, I know it's strong, but –"

Draco cut him off there. "The Bond is not strong."

"Now you're making no sense," Harry sighed. "You just said –"

"I know what I said," Draco said snippily. "But you seem to be unable to grasp my point. A strong Bond would result in both parties feeling extremely compelled by it. I am not."

"What do you mean, you're not?" Harry questioned, not sure if he liked where this was going.

"I feel what you do, yes, and being in your presence sooths me, but I do not feel compelled to be near you," Draco replied coolly.

"You've got to be kidding me," Harry moaned.

"It's a fact," Draco stated stubbornly.

"Then why can't you go to work yourself?" Harry snapped, annoyed.

"Because this type of Bond is the type that forces us together – weren't you paying attention to Granger's explanations?" Draco sighed, shaking his head. "If we part ways now, we will be reversing how close we have been over the night. Staying in the same house seems to be all this Bond requires, but separating now would cause the need to be in each others' vicinity to increase."

"But you wouldn't feel that?" Harry guessed, frustrated by Draco's denial.

"Not to the extent that you might," Draco responded. "The point is, now that we've gotten ourselves into remarkably close proximity, backing out would be immensely difficult."

"You should've told me this before we moved in," Harry groaned.

"I didn't think of it until yesterday night," replied Draco. "I left the house for a short while to check if my theory was accurate. It was."

Harry looked at him carefully, then remembered that he had experienced a particularly disturbing dream sometime yesterday night. Maybe that had been the time Draco walked out. "You didn't get much sleep, did you?"

"It hardly matters!" Draco snapped. "Are you coming to work with me or not?"

"Fine!" Harry said, throwing the covers off, temporarily forgetting that he was naked from the waist up. When he remembered, he flushed a little and turned away. "Are you going to stand there all day?" he snapped.

There was the sound of footsteps, then the door closed. Harry, still slightly red, tried not to think of the fact that he had almost found Draco attractive. Maybe he was so used to bad sleep that getting good rest drugged him the way morphine did.

But, he realised, he didn't feel quite so empty any more.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

Draco leaned against the wall in the hallway leading to the door. He hadn't eaten yet, but he didn't feel comfortable enough to go rummaging around in search of the kitchen. Maybe he should have accepted Harry's offer of a tour after all. At the moment, though, Draco barely noticed his hunger – he was too occupied thinking more deeply about this Bond. It  _was_  actually quite strong, whatever he let Harry think. He just didn't want Harry to know how dependant he was on him, which is why he made Harry believe that it didn't affect him. In truth, the need to keep Harry in his immediate vicinity was rather dire on his side – he was afraid that he might need the prick more than he was needed.

It didn't help that he, a gay man who had been on a sex drive for a month, had seen Harry half-naked this morning. How was he supposed to know that the arse slept without a shirt on?

There was one thing he noticed about Harry – gone was the scrawny, nimble Seeker he remembered from schooling days. In his place, instead, was this broad-shouldered, well-muscled, tanned man who he realised was just about his type. Draco had always gone for similar men when searching for conquests, and the extreme similarities were not lost on him. The only physical difference between Harry and those random men – aside from the wizardry – was his eyes. Draco hadn't seen that shade of green anywhere while he was on the prowl, not on anyone at all. Unfortunately, he found it quite attractive.

Which brought Draco to the next thing he was pondering. What if Granger had been wrong about the type of Bond this was? What if the Bond's purpose was to do more than just get them together in the same room? Was this growing attraction in the pit of his stomach a side-effect, or main purpose of the Bond? So many questions, and he didn't have an answer to any of them.

He forced himself to stop thinking about it and his eyes wandered around the narrow hall, alighting on the black square of moth-eaten velvet curtain. He'd never been one to pry, especially since old Wizarding houses tended to have many dark secrets, but he was honestly curious about what was hidden here. Reaching out, he grabbed a corner of the curtain and tugged.

" _Half-breeds, filth, scum! By-products of dirt and vileness!"_

Draco's eyes widened in horror as a picture of an old woman in a black cap screamed at him and he took several steps back. The painting was one of the most realistic, hideous and unpleasant ones he had ever seen, but he immediately recognised his Grand-aunt Walburga. She was drooling and her eyes rolling maniacally, and Draco pressed his back against the wall, not sure what to do. All of a sudden, the other portraits along the wall began to scream too. Draco drew his wand. " _Silencio_!" he shouted, but that amounted to visibly nothing.

Grand-aunt Walburga noticed him then and yelled, " _You! Blood traitor, abomination! How dare you contaminate the house of my fathers! You betrayed your own –"_

But before Draco could hear what he had betrayed, Harry came dashing down the stairs in a pair of faded jeans and a red shirt that was only half-buttoned. Did the man derive pleasure from showing off his chest?

Walburga Black turned her popping eyes on Harry. " _Yooooooou! Undeserving half-blood wretch –"_

Harry grabbed the curtains in his hands and attempted to wrench them shut. Draco rushed forward to help, and together they wrestled the black fabric back over the portrait. The hall fell silent.

"Sorry about that," Harry grimaced. "Permanent Sticking Charm's got her stuck there forever. Believe me, I've tried getting it off."

Before Draco could ask questions, a small house elf came bustling into the room. "Kreacher heard Mistress screaming," it said.

Draco's eyes widened again. This gave him a queer sense of déjà vu – seeing the same house elf who he had avoided like the plague as a child due to its terrifying grumpiness. When it saw him, however, it sunk into a low bow. "Master Malfoy," he said respectfully.

"Hello, Kreacher," Draco replied quietly.

Kreacher turned to Harry. "Kreacher has prepared pancakes," he said. "Kreacher didn't know Master Potter had..." He trailed off, turned to Draco, and looked back at Harry again. "...guests."

"No matter," Harry smiled, buttoning up the remainder of his shirt. "Thanks, Kreacher."

Kreacher turned and shuffled off.

"Well?" Harry smiled. "Wouldn't you like some breakfast?"

Draco glanced at the clock on the wall. It was seven-thirty. "I'm running late."

"We're Apparating anyway," Harry said. "Come on, now." For the second time, Harry grabbed Draco's arm and pulled him along. This time, Draco didn't pull away so quickly, allowing the warmth in Harry's grasp to travel along his skin before gently removing himself from it.

Harry led him down a narrow stone staircase and into the basement below, where Draco found himself in a rather large kitchen. There was a huge heap of pancakes laid out on the table. Harry  _Accio_ ed a pair of plates for them and started to help himself.

Draco cut up a piece and took a bite. It was quite nice, but Draco was certain he could make better ones than this. Harry didn't seem to mind – that tongue had not been trained to fine dining. Draco was hungry, though, and ate a fair share, not even stopping to comment when the aforementioned tongue licked at a drop of maple syrup in a fairly rude manner that would have earned Draco a sharp talking to had he done it at the Manor.

Unfortunately, thoughts of Harry's tongue were starting to trail somewhere he didn't want to go.

Draco stood up abruptly. "It's nearing eight o'clock. I cannot afford to be late," he said stiffly. "You either come with me, or I leave you to drown in that unhealthy syrup."

"You're such a killjoy," Harry muttered, but he got up as well.

"Ready?" Draco asked, trying to look annoyed that Harry took so long to pull his damn coat on.

"Ready," Harry replied with a small smile.

As Draco focused on the apothecary, he found himself thinking that whatever this was, at least he didn't feel so empty anymore.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

Later that evening, Harry managed to convince Draco to take a tour of the house. He showed Draco the dining hall, the rest of the basement (mainly the pantry and the boiler where Kreacher lived), then up to the room where Buckbeak used to stay, then Sirius and Regulus' old rooms, which he hadn't touched or altered in any way (so yes, Sirius' room was still plastered with pictures of motorcycles and Muggle girls, although due to the Permanent Sticking Charms on them, he probably couldn't take them down if he tried). He even showed him the attic (where he tripped on the winding steps and had red ears when Draco teased him about it), which was neat but dusty after being cleaned out several months ago.

They were just about finished when Draco said, "You don't have any Muggle devices here."

"No," Harry agreed.

"Not even a telephone," Draco noted.

"No," Harry repeated, not sure where this was going.

"Even your camera is a Wizarding one," Draco went on, noticing the old object lying on its side on the dining table.

"Yes," Harry replied slowly.

"Why? Weren't you raised by Muggles?" Draco inquired, cocking an eyebrow in a way that was almost half-seductive. Not that Harry thought about things like that.

"I was," Harry confirmed.

Draco looked slightly puzzled. "Then why...?"

"Muggle appliances do the exact opposite of what they were made for," Harry said quietly.

"I'm afraid I don't quite follow," Draco responded.

Harry sighed. "A telephone, for example," he began, "was invented for the sake of communication, but now is simply a powerful means of not speaking to another person."

"I don't comprehend your logic," Draco said truthfully, not taking his eyes off of Harry.

"It's become the only way you can be contactable," Harry replied. "So you switch it off, or ignore the persistent rings. Then what happens? You never communicate."

Draco's eyes lit up slightly, as Harry had begun to notice they did when engaging in an interesting conversation. "That's more intelligence than I believed you to be capable of, Potter," he smirked. "In fact, it's more than most can hope to acquire. But what you're concluding can be applied to more than just Muggle appliances. It's the same with many Wizarding devices, as well."

Harry sat down and asked, "Such as?"

Draco gestured to the camera. "Your camera was made to take pictures of actual things going on, wasn't it?" he said. "But it's no longer a means used to truly see the world – it's a box to hide behind, that takes images that are manipulated and edited to be seen as you want them to be seen." He paused, looking triumphant at having made his point. "The problem isn't in devices, Potter. It's in people."

Harry smiled. "That's true. I never thought about that." He stretched, unknowingly revealing a thin sliver of skin on his stomach, then realising it and putting his arms down again. "I'm going to turn in. Try to get some sleep tonight, eh?"

Draco nodded silently. Harry wasn't sure if he would listen.

"Goodnight, Draco," he said, and without waiting for a reply, he left the room.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

Draco stared after Harry as he left the dining area. "Goodnight, Potter," he said softly, knowing Harry couldn't hear him. He wondered about their conversation. Harry didn't want Muggle objects, and Draco had become used to living among them. Things couldn't have been more ironic if they tried.

What Draco didn't understand was why he had underestimated Harry so much. Truthfully, he had never considered Harry lacking in intelligence despite the jibes he dealt, but he never expected Harry to think of things like that. Perhaps it was a side to him that only few were privileged enough to encounter.

Draco also couldn't figure out why he had found this newly discovered trait...attractive. He found himself immensely fascinated by what other ideas Harry carried about the world in his head. Even worse, he was fascinated by the toned stomach, and for a few potentially disastrous moments, had felt the urge to touch the tanned skin there.

Draco took a deep, shaky breath. Things weren't going well with this Bond. Sure, the emptiness had receded, though it still lay somewhere there, an ache underneath his flesh. But this new attraction was an aspect to the Bond he hadn't anticipated. He needed to find a way out of this before he did something to the very-straight Golden Boy that he would regret.


	9. Chapter 9

Harry didn't know why, but as the days passed, the sight of Draco doing everyday things seemed to get a lot more interesting to look at. He'd watch him while he spoke to customers, admire the way he smiled pleasantly (because it was rare to see Draco smile, fake or otherwise) and his extensive knowledge of potions. He'd observe him while he counted money or organised the store room, because he liked that look of complete concentration he got about him. He'd gaze at him while he brewed his potions, because he enjoyed seeing Draco look so peaceful – it was clear how passionate he was about his work, and Harry seemed to find pleasure in seeing that.

In fact, Harry was doing just that – watching Draco – when the apothecary door swung open, admitting both Ron and Hermione. Harry had begged Hermione to be the one to tell Ron about this situation with Draco because he knew if he tried to talk about it, he'd probably screw it all up. Ron hadn't taken it well at first, but after a day or so, he said he understood that it wasn't his fault. Still, Harry noticed Ron eyeing Draco suspiciously as he stepped into the shop.

"Harry!" Hermione greeted with a smile. "How've you been?"

"Never better," lied Harry. "Hey, mate," he added to Ron.

"Hey. How's it like, living with the git?" asked Ron with a grimace.

Harry thought about that for a moment, remembering watching Draco as he sat in the sofa by the fireplace, absorbed in a book, laughing over meals as they bickered, and several challenges nearly ending in fistfights that got Harry's blood rushing faster and his adrenaline pumping. "Not too bad," he replied.

Hermione was watching Harry worriedly. She seemed to know something was on his mind. Honestly, Harry really did feel the need to be afraid of her sometimes. Brilliant intelligence  _and_  female intuition – it was a wonder she couldn't read his mind.

"Has the Bond been causing any other effects?" she asked.

"No," he replied. "Aside from the fact that we now can't be separated at all."

Hermione thought about it for a second. "I hadn't realised it would be that type of Bond."

Ron sighed, exasperated. "Do you always do that?"

"Do what?"

"Calculate everything in your head and leave everyone else to follow," Ron replied. Harry shot him a sympathetic look – he understood his best friend's woes completely.

"Their type of Bond is the one that Binds them through stages," Hermione explained. "The first stage was getting them to meet each other. The second was making them spend time together. The third was moving in together. I don't know what the fourth is yet, or if it simply ends there. The point is, once you pass one stage, it's nearly impossible to back out of it."

Ron gaped. "Are you saying Harry has to live with  _Malfoy_ for the rest of his life?"

"Just until we figure out what's Binding them," Hermione said soothingly.

"But that's bloody mental!"

"I appreciate the compliment, Weasley," Draco drawled, startling all three of them. They turned towards him. Ron went maroon.

"Be nice," Harry warned, earning a roll of silver eyes.

Hermione seemed to gather some courage and asked, "What do you think, Malfoy? Will there be a fourth stage?"

Draco turned to her, undisguised surprise on his face at being addressed directly and politely. "In my opinion, the fourth stage has already begun," he said quietly.

Harry furrowed his brow, confused. Hermione waited patiently for a response, but Ron cut in, "What's that?"

Draco frowned at him, and Harry just knew he was tempted to say something about manners, but thankfully he had enough self-restraint to simply respond, "Attraction."

Harry and Ron's jaws dropped in unison, but Hermione nodded grimly, as if she'd expected this. "To what extent?"

"At the mildest, to the extent of a gesture affection," Draco replied smoothly. "At the worst, to a sexual extent with a severe lack of said affection. Either way, there will be a stage more explicit in nature eventually."

Harry could only stand there and gawp, so Ron spoke for him. "So you guys moved in for nothing?"

Draco looked frustrated by the need to explain something clearly so displeasing for him to talk about, so Hermione spoke instead. "No, not for nothing. Had they simply not progressed to the next stage, the Bond would have become so tense that it would have leaped several stages in an effort to get them together, which would have been far less pleasant. These slow stages make it easier to get used to things. We have to play along with the Bond until we figure out how to stop it."

Ron groaned. "Who would want to inflict such a tragedy on you, mate?" he asked Harry.

"Excuse me," Draco said coldly, causing Ron to flinch. "It's just as bad for me as it is for him. I've had to become accustomed to him spending time here while I'm supposed to be working, and I now have had to give up my more than comfortable apartment to live with him. I am experiencing the exact same things Potter is experiencing, perhaps at a less intense level, but in a life-changing way all the same. I would much appreciate it if you were more considerate towards me. Contrary to popular belief, I am not an object, but a human."

"I didn't mean it that way –" Ron spluttered. "Harry, tell him I didn't mean it like that."

But Harry knew what Draco was talking about, knew how he felt. Constantly being ignored and degraded was a fate no one should have to suffer. He shrugged. "Sorry, Ron. It sounded like that to me."

"Maybe your phrasing needs some work," Hermione said pleasantly, attempting to diffuse the tension.

Ron scowled. "Fine," he snapped. Harry smiled a little. Ron was a lot of things, but he was by no means unreasonable. "So how do we break this thing?"

Draco opened his mouth, probably about to say something about the usage of non-technical terms, but Harry shot him a glare and he shut it again.

"I'm doing as much research as I can at this point," Hermione said. "But this is a really unique Bond, Harry. It's tailored for both of you specifically."

"That's not a very comforting thought," Harry sighed. "But don't strain yourself, Hermione. You need to study for your NEWTS."

"It's alright, I'm tutoring Neville as well, so that responsibility keeps me on track."

"Wait, Neville?" Harry asked, frowning. "Wasn't he training to be an Auror?"

"He quit a week ago," Ron replied. "Sorry, mate – I forgot to tell you, I'm working with his old partner now."

"Why?" Harry questioned, bewildered.

"This whole hero thing isn't really his dream," Hermione said. "He's taking up Herbology now – he's really quite brilliant at it. He's already Professor Sprout's apprentice."

Draco cleared his throat. "When we're finished discussing Longbottom, I would like to speak to Granger about the Bond. Preferably alone, though privacy is not necessary."

"Why?" Ron asked, instantly on his guard.

"I know quite a bit about it, seeing as I'm one of the parties affected," Draco replied stiffly. "And I believe I can assist Granger quite well on her quest to discover its source."

"But why alone?" Ron repeated.

Harry cut in, slightly worried that there might be another dispute. "Let's be honest, mate," he grinned. "Neither of us really understand all those fancy words they through around. It's not a good idea for us to be there; they'd have to answer all our dumb questions instead of focusing on the task at hand. They'll give us a full report soon, I'm sure."

Draco shot him a grateful glance. Hermione looked a little uncomfortable, but nodded.

The two sat behind the counter, and Harry dragged Ron off to the other side of the shop.

"Attraction, eh?" asked Ron after a while. "That's got to be a bit of a mess."

Harry nodded absentmindedly, remembering how he found Draco attractive the first morning in his house and how he had been becoming increasingly intent on watching him. Was that the attraction Draco was mentioning? Maybe the git was right – the Bond's effects were worse on Harry. He glanced back over at Draco, who looked almost adorably – no, he wasn't going to go there. Draco just looked serious and focused, and looked just as anyone else might. He would not be attracted to Draco. He was  _straight_ , for Godric's sake. He couldn't simply fall for a guy.

Unfortunately, Harry was starting to learn that it was impossible to fight the Bond.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

Draco watched discreetly as Weasley threw one arm over Harry's shoulder, speaking to him in low tones. Even from here, Draco could tell that Harry was lost in thought.

"What is it?" Granger asked beside him, and Draco turned his attention to her.

"The attraction," he said quietly, "is both sexual and affectionate."

Granger's eyes widened. "Okay..."

"It's almost as if I am noticing all the smallest things that Potter does, and finding each one impossibly likeable," Draco muttered. "If I'm feeling this way, imagine how he is coping."

"You infer that he feels the Bond more strongly than you?" Granger asked.

"Yes," replied Draco, but he knew he wasn't fooling her in the slightest. She knew he was just as affected – hell, she'd seen him staring after Harry like a lovesick sap only a minute ago.

She didn't contradict him, instead moving on. "So what you're saying is that the Bond may have been put in practise before."

Draco nodded, amazed that he was able to follow the unspoken train of thought that had taken him most of his time at Grimmauld Place to construct. The general idea was that this bond was similar to the Soul Bond used in the Dark Arts – it caused two people to be brought together in ways that seemed purely coincidental, and then fall in love. This type of bonding generally caused the belief in the existence of soul mates. "Yes, most likely how those who believed they were falling in love."

"So we start by looking up married couple who claim to have been brought together by fate?" Hermione asked.

"Yes," Draco responded, even though he didn't like the parallel he was drawing.

Granger watched him intently for a moment, then asked, "Happily married till death?"

Draco looked at her for a few moments, understanding that she wasn't asking about research. "I don't know," he replied. He nodded once, then stood up. "Thank you for your time, Granger. You're...more than welcome to write me or see me here or at Grimmauld Place. I want to solve whatever this problem is as quickly as possible, and will give you my full cooperation."

"Sure," Granger responded. She, too, stood up, and cast a glance at Harry and Weasley. They were both looking in their direction.

"I have to get back to work," Draco said. "But I'm contactable."

"Certainly. Thank you, Malfoy," Granger said stiffly. "...umm, you remember what I said, about doing this solely for Harry?"

"Clearly."

"I...I'm sorry I said that."

"But it was true, at the time."

"Yes."

Draco offered her a smirk. "Why do you think I offered to help you, Granger? I was attempting to get into your good books, so you'd make a little effort for me, too. Slytherins are never without hidden agenda."

Granger's eyes widened, then she laughed. "Sure thing. I'll keep that in mind."

Draco nodded, then turned to look at Harry, who shot a supportive little smile in their direction, which Draco found quite appealing. He wondered, briefly, who the smile was for, and found himself wishing that it was directed at him.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

Harry and Draco were seated on separate sofas in the living room in Grimmauld Place, and Harry was staring at Draco rather intently. He knew Draco could feel him watching – he was simply waiting for Draco to speak first, which of course, he wouldn't want to do. He would try to hold out for as long as he could. Harry sometimes had to consider it a miracle that two men who liked to challenge each other this much managed to live in the same house for a fortnight without breaking everything in sight.

Finally, Draco slammed his book shut and straightened up, turning to glare at Harry. "What?" he snapped.

"Nothing," said Harry innocently.

Draco made an irritated noise with his tongue and opened his book again. Harry didn't take his eyes off of him, observing the almost feminine flush of anger rising to his easily coloured, pale cheeks, and the way Draco attempted to immerse himself back into whatever crap he was reading. Of course, Harry knew he wasn't concentrating.

It only took five more minutes for Draco to sigh, close the book gently, rest it on his stomach and lie back on the couch with his hands behind his head. It was an almost picture-perfect pose, and Harry was certain he was unaware of exactly how he looked right now.

_I'm straight. I'm straight_ , Harry told himself in his head.

"Fine," Draco said quietly. "What is it?"

"What did you mean by attraction?" Harry asked. "Hermione said that everything you do will become appealing to me, and the same should go the other way around. She also said that she got this idea from you." He paused, trying to gather his thoughts. "If that's the case, then do you...feel that way about me?"

Draco smirked, opened his book, and scanned a page for the spot which he stopped at. "I was inferring, from several instances in the Bond, that such affixation is what might occur. I myself feel none of that, do you?"

"I don't," Harry lied. "But...Hermione told me you did."

If Draco was alarmed by Harry's statement, he didn't show it. Damn all Slytherins and their poker-face skills! "Perhaps I did not make myself clear to her. It's a reasonable assumption."

Harry frowned. He didn't feel comfortable with the idea that Draco was so much less affected by the bond than he was, especially since he had to constantly remind himself of his sexual orientation to stop himself from staring too long. But it was hard  _not_  to stare – Draco's features were almost,  _almost_  feminine, and his eyes, cold as they were, seemed to hold a certain depth that Harry found himself longing to uncover – what hid behind them? – and he looked rather fetching in his Muggle jeans, and –

Harry shook himself quickly.

_Straight. I'm straight._

At the back of his head, another voice whispered,  _Yeah, keep telling yourself that._

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

Draco quickly became accustomed to Grimmauld Place. Aside from the horrible portrait, it was a rather cosy home. He had forgotten what it was like to feel magic thriving in abundance around him. No matter how much he appreciated Muggle appliances, there was nothing like the reassuring tingling of magic floating through the air.

It was fine day when Draco decided to fully explore the house. Harry was in his room, doing Salazar-knows-what, and Draco was mind-numbingly bored. Upon inspection, he discovered that on the third landing was a room with two smaller beds and one large bed somehow wedged into it.

Draco found another door next to that of the bathroom. It was definitely the oldest one in the house, and was hanging wide open. Curious, he peered inside. The room seemed rather mouldy. He took a few steps in and realised that he was in an old cupboard. Its shelves were lined with dust-covered old relics that looked like valuable pieces of Black history. Draco wondered if Harry was aware of them or if he had simply been reluctant to sort through them at all and had dumped them here.

There was a loud slam and the cupboard was suddenly flooded with darkness. Draco sighed and turned around – the door had closed on him. He reached out to feel it and gave it a hard push. Nothing happened. Cursing, he tried again. The door didn't budge.

"Shite," Draco muttered, reaching for his wand. " _Lumos_ ," he said, and his wand lit up well enough for him to see the door. It was simply shut – there was no indication of a lock or latch. He tried pushing it again – that didn't work. " _Alohomora_ ," he tried, but the door remained closed. "Fuck it!" he swore. " _Reducto_!" Incredibly, the spell simply seemed to be absorbed by the door before coming to naught. Draco groaned. All he'd wanted to do was explore a little, and he'd somehow gotten himself here. He couldn't even Apparate out of this – that idiot Harry had set up in-house-Apparation wards for Salazar knows why.

"Potter!" he shouted. The walls in the room didn't even echo – they were so covered by mould and dust that Draco doubted he could be heard. "Potter!" he called once more, and his voice sounded so small that he didn't even bother trying again. Instead, he turned his attention to the door, fiddled with his wand, and thought up more complicated spells.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

Harry lay on his stomach in his bed, a piece of parchment resting on a book in front of him, a quill in his hand which he scratched his chin with. He had never been the best at composing letters, especially since he tended to phrase his sentences wrongly, but he was confident Luna would understand.

Harry was writing to her about the Bond. He didn't want to tell anyone else about it, but he needed Luna's perspective. Perhaps, seeing as no logic could make sense of it, she could. He was just about finished describing the bond with terms as technical as he could manage – he didn't want her to know how emotionally invested he was in this – when he heard the softest of whisperings in his ear.

"Potter."

Harry visibly started, rolling over comically on the bed and falling over its edge, tumbling messily to the ground, his parchment a ruined, crumpled heap beneath him. He grumbled – now he'd have to rewrite it – and sat up with flaming cheeks, about to yell at Draco for interrupting him like this, and for creeping up on him so silently.

But Draco wasn't in the room. Harry turned his head this way and that, but Draco was nowhere to be found.

"Potter." The voice whispered again.

Harry drew his wand, casting a few spells over the room, but found nothing. The murmuring was persistent. "Potter."

"What is it?" Harry whispered back, trying to figure out where the voice that clearly belonged to Draco was coming from. He closed his eyes, trying to isolate it, focusing completely on it. It wasn't hard to do – the voice had a soft, velvety quality about it that he rarely heard in Draco's voice, which was usually cold with a hard edge. It was almost...seductive? No, it wasn't exactly sultry. It was more...gentle. Gentle and warm.

Harry suddenly realised that the voice seemed to be originating from inside his head. It reverberated around his skull, echoing through his ears. He concentrated on it harder, and when he opened his eyes, he felt something tugging at him, as if an invisible force was trying to pull at him weakly. He looked down – not a single bit of him was physically being pulled in any direction, but he definitely felt some unseen force urging him forwards.

After a bit of contemplation, Harry decided to follow it. He walked out of his room and up the stairs, trailing after the strange force guiding him. He came to a halt in front of the bathroom, and the sensation disappeared. He frowned, glancing around. There was nothing here.

"Potter." The whispering started again. He strained his ears, trying to figure out where it was coming from.

And then he heard it.

_Thump! Thump!_

"Fuck!"

Harry spun towards the hall cupboard, staring at it with wide eyes. Was it just him, or did Draco's voice just...

"Draco?" Harry called. "Are you in there?"

The repetitive swearing, so muffled through the wood, stopped for a moment, then went, "Yes I fucking well am! Get me out of this demonic closet this instant!"

Harry sighed, reached out for the door and tugged at it. It didn't budge. He took a deep breath, then very gently touched the door's wood, stroked it twice, and pulled at the doorknob. This time, the door gave way easily, revealing a very flustered Draco.

"What the fuck is wrong with this damn cupboard?" Draco snapped, rushing out of it quickly. Harry noted that his hair was slightly messed up. It was a good luck.

"I dunno," Harry replied. "It's an old house. Old houses have lots of old magic."

"How'd you get it open?" Draco questioned.

"I tickled the door," said Harry.

"Have to do that often, do you?" Draco asked, getting more annoyed by the second.

"Not much," Harry admitted.

"Then how did you know how to open it?"

Harry shrugged. "Everything in the Wizarding world needs to be tickled in some way or other at some point," he responded.

"You fucking  _guessed_  how to get me out of there?"

"Yes. It worked pretty well, too, so no complaining."

Draco stared at him in what looked like disbelief. "How did you even know I was in there?"

"See, that's the weird bit..." Harry said, and told him about everything that had happened. When he was finished, Draco looked disbelieving.

"You're romanticising this whole thing, Potter," he said coolly. "Which is reasonable, considering the stage of the Bond, but surely you don't think –"

"I'm not romanticising anything," Harry shot back. "You didn't feel it. You didn't hear my voice whispering in your ear. It scared the fucking –"

"Look, Potter –"

"No,  _you_  look!" Harry snapped. "I'm sick of you always downgrading the effects the Bond has on you. Surely I'm not the only one experiencing these things.  _You_  gave Hermione information on this, and I don't care what kind of brain you have or what goes on in it – you felt it yourself, first!"

Draco opened his mouth to argue but Harry, with his hand still on the doorknob, suddenly felt a strong gust of wind passing his face. The door to the cupboard slammed shut, dragging him with it. He fell to the floor, in turn knocking Draco to the ground with him as his feet performed a clean leg-sweep. Draco tumbled on top of him, swearing.

"Bugger it!" he growled. "I swear to Salazar, Potter! Your fucking house is far too fucking magical for my liking! Even the Manor never –"

Harry had stopped listening. He had become rather enthralled by how translucent Draco's silvery eyes seemed up close. If he looked hard enough, it was almost as if he could see right down to Draco's soul – what was that quote about eyes and windows? Harry felt a sudden odd urge to reach up and touch the contours of Draco's face, the pale cheekbones and the alabaster skin, wondering if it was just as cold as it looked, or if there was warmth beneath the marble-like exterior.

Draco paused in his speaking and looked down at Harry, too. It only took a moment for him to stand up abruptly and dust himself off, leaving Harry rather haunted by the ghosts he had seen in Draco's gaze.

"I give up," Draco sighed, turning and walking off a little too quickly and somewhat more awkwardly than before.

Harry groaned, feeling a little strange after this encounter. A fire seemed to be burning in his belly. He sat up and made to stand, then noticed a tent in his trousers.

Fuck. He was hard.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

Draco felt like a 14-year-old again, and not for any good reason. Honestly, he felt like such an idiot for letting his body rage with hormonal charge reminiscent of pubescent years – was he really going to let himself go?

Basically, he was hard. From falling on top of Harry Potter.  _Just falling on him._

Draco shut the door of his room and palmed himself through his jeans, trying to relieve the pressure. He groaned softly – abstinence after a month's worth of nightly sex had definitely taken a toll on him. He unbuttoned his pants and slipped a hand inside his boxers. He closed his eyes, letting his head fall back against the door. As he slid his eyelids shut, a picture came into his mind – Harry whispering something into his ear, leaning over and grabbing –

With supreme effort, Draco stopped touching himself and forced his eyes open. No. He would  _not_  wank to thoughts of Potter. He would much walk around trying to hide his erection for the rest of the day than do that. Grabbing a towel, he creaked open his door, and seeing that no one was around, he rushed into the bathroom. What he needed was a long, cold shower.

Unaware to him, downstairs, Harry was in the shower, too, drenching himself in icy cold water and shivering. Anything was preferable to the alternative.

 


	10. Chapter 10

Things went on like this for the next few days. Neither was able to relieve themselves in any way without conjuring up images of the other, so both refused to. Draco was distracted during work, and Harry was perpetually hiding behind books he borrowed nonchalantly from Draco and pretending he understood them, just to keep his mind off of things. When Harry did get around to writing the letter to Luna, which consisted of technical jargon and a bunch of strictly objective details, Luna wrote back saying she needed more information than what Harry was giving her – she wanted to know how Harry felt, not what he was supposed to be feeling. Harry wasn't ready to put it down in words yet.

"This is ridiculous!" he told Hermione and Ron when they were visiting the shop one day. "I mean, I know the desire is supposed to come naturally, but I wish the prick would say he felt the same way so I don't feel like such an idiot."

"Do you think he does, though?" Ron asked.

Harry sighed and shook his head. "I don't know."

"I'm trying really hard to find the answers, Harry," Hermione said. "Maybe if you could reported it –"

"But the press will have a field day!" Harry interrupted. "Neither Draco nor I need that publicity right now."

Hermione walked away a few moments later and spoke to Draco in low tones for about an hour. Draco, aware that Harry was watching him, kept his face blank.

"So you're…attracted to blokes now?" Ron asked as Harry squinted, attempting to make sense of Draco's carefully arranged expressions.

"Not blokes," Harry corrected, without really paying attention. "Just Draco."

Ron stared at him for a moment then said, "Dude."

Harry blushed. "I didn't mean that like it sounded."

Ron raised an eyebrow, but changed the subject. Neither he nor Harry mentioned Draco again.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

Mr. Mulpepper closed the shop early that day, and both Draco and Harry were at Grimmauld Place by six. The first thing Draco did was go to his room and lay on his bed. He had a lot to think about.

Granger had told him earlier that day that she had done a bit of research into the soul mates theory, but none of the situations seemed to exactly match that which he and Harry were going through. She theorised, of course, that this was because they had known each other as enemies for a long time and the Bond had to find another, more complicated way to bring them together. Although Draco understood her point of view and could find no flaw in her logic, he couldn't help but feel that this one was different. Then again, his closeness to the case might be affecting his judgement.

Subconsciously, Draco unbuckled his pants and snaked a hand into his boxers. He was painfully hard, and had been for a good fraction of the day, which was why he had gone around with a jacket tied around his waist while attending to customers. If Harry noticed, he didn't say anything, but Mr. Mulpepper had given him a very suggestive glance that made him want to bury himself in the ground.

Leisurely, he began to stroke himself. He concentrated on nothing but his breathing and the magic that hung in the air around him, effectively keeping his mind blissfully blank. He moaned softly, beginning to move his hand a little faster. Too much thinking was hazardous, he realised. He should probably relax more often, instead of –

There was a knock on the door, startling Draco out of his reverie. "Draco?" Harry's voice called.

Draco hurriedly pulled his pants up as far as they would go – they seemed painfully tight now – and threw his blanket over himself. He knew Harry wouldn't enter the room unless given permission, but he felt irrationally paranoid. "What?" he snapped.

"Wow. Okay," Harry said, his voice a picture of mock-hurt. He sounded good-natured enough, though, which told Draco he was only joking. "I just wanted to tell you that Kreacher's done with dinner, so –"

"I'm not hungry," Draco said.

Harry sighed audibly. "Fine. Just don't expect any of us to fix you a midnight snack." There was the sound of receding footsteps, then silence.

Draco groaned. Well,  _that_  had killed the mood.

But it hadn't, because Draco found himself more turned on than previously, and this time, with the memory of Harry's voice floating around in his mind. He hissed in frustration. This was going to be a long night.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

The weekend loomed before them and Draco spent a lot more time alone in his room than out in the living room with Harry. It was a pity, though, as he had come to quite enjoy the brief arguments they had while sitting near the hearth. He almost  _missed_ him, in fact, which was more than he ever wanted to admit.

Draco wondered what had become of his respectable self – he had once been a Slytherin Prince. Now he was jerking off on his bed and trying to keep his mind as blank as was humanly possible, attempting to keep his moans to a low decibel so as not to be heard. He picked up the pace, hoping to finally get that release he had been craving. He was sure he wouldn't be interrupted, not this time.

Outside, a gust of wind blew through the thin walls of the house, entering through windows and slipping around the empty spaces, effectively pushing open closed doors with the quietest of whispers, going unnoticed.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

On the sofa in the living room, Harry closed his eyes. A wave of exhaustion rushed over him – this whole Bond thing was so much more complicated and tiring than he had anticipated, and he felt unbearably cold. A soft breeze seemed to whistle through the house, causing a shiver to run through his body.

There was a soft creaking sound and Harry sat straight up, looking around. He couldn't think where it might have come from, but being the curious Gryffindor he was, he wanted to find out. Leaping off the couch, he stalked out of the living room and paced silently across the floor. Even the wooden boards beneath his feet seemed awfully quiet.

He turned into a corridor and saw that Draco's door was ajar. He frowned. He hadn't seen or heard Draco leave his room. Harry wasn't one to be paranoid, but just to be sure, he walked up to the door and peered inside.

His jaw dropped.

Lying on the bed, completely naked, was Draco Malfoy, with his hand wrapped around his own cock, stroking it leisurely and firmly. Harry knew that he should turn and run off right there and then, but he couldn't move. His feet refused to move backwards – instead, they strained to step into the room and Harry had a sudden urge to pounce on the picture of perfection before him. Draco was letting out quiet little moans, and the sound was shooting straight to Harry's cock, already straining against his trousers. It didn't help that all of Draco's pale, porcelain-like skin was spread out for Harry's gaze to devour. Harry gulped audibly, but Draco didn't seem to hear him, instead increasing the movements of his hand.

Shaking his head, Harry attempted to tear his eyes away from the incredible sight. This was so fucking wrong – he was like some pervert, spying on another man's private moments – and he was supposed to be  _straight_ , for fuck's sake. He shouldn't be getting turned on by this. Slowly, he took a deep, shaky breath, and made to back away.

And then Draco let out the tiniest of whimpers and all of Harry's resolve crumbled on the spot. He barely realised what he was doing as he pushed the door fully open and strode inside.

Draco's eyes, previously closed, shot open when he heard Harry's footsteps and he instantly stopped touching himself, but his blanket had somehow ended up in a crumpled heap on the floor and he had nothing to cover himself with, so he settled for glaring at Harry. "What the  _fuck_  are you doing?" he yelled, but the effect of his angry voice was neutralised by his shortness of breath. Harry took one look at Draco's eyes and struggled to suppress a moan – his pupils were blown wide with lust, only a small rim of silvery-blue visible around its edges.

Harry stepped right up to Draco and sat down on the bed. His mind was in a whirl, and he felt like desire had completely taken over his body, making him do things he would have never dreamt of doing before and leaving him impossibly aching with need.

"What are you doing?" Draco repeated, but Harry shushed him impatiently and stroked a line from Draco's neck down to his chest. Draco swatted his hands away. "What...what are you doing?" he said again, sounding quite like a broken Pensieve, but his voice had lost its conviction.

"Stop being stubborn," Harry said, and his voice came out low and husky – he would've been embarrassed, had he not been so turned on. "We both know we want this. Why won't you fucking admit you want it just as badly as I do?"

"Potter – oh, fuck," Draco hissed as Harry leaned down and licked a line down his neck. Harry wasn't sure what he was supposed to do – his experience thus far had been with girls – but he figured he'd go for the obvious. He reached out hesitatingly and fisted Draco's cock in his right hand. Draco's hips arched involuntarily, and he let out a strangled cry that only served to fuel the pure  _want_  running through Harry's veins. He sped up his movements slightly, becoming more confident.

"Fuck," Draco whimpered as Harry slid his thumb over the head of his cock. It wasn't too different from jerking himself off, Harry realised. The angle took some getting used to, but from the debauched noises Draco was making, he couldn't have been doing too badly. "Potter...we probably shouldn't..."

"Do you want me to stop?" Harry asked, slowing down his movements. He tried to sound cocky, but he was sure that Draco could hear the slight tremor in his voice, the fear that he had read this whole situation wrongly. What if he had made a big mistake?

"Salazar, no," Draco panted, bucking his hips upwards. "Don't you fucking dare stop." Harry chuckled and sped up again. Draco whined softly when Harry made a twisting motion with his hand, learning all the things Draco liked. It was easy to tell – he was rather vocal and highly responsive. Harry learned quickly that if he stroked him from this particular angle, Draco would fist the sheets and mewl. It didn't take long for his breathing to become laboured, and a moment later, Draco arched his back, canting his hips, and came with a loud cry. Harry watched in fascination as the usually poker-faced man unravelled before him. His eyes slid shut and he let out the hottest of noises, arching like a cat, twisting the sheets in his hands.

Harry moaned softly and realised that he had come in his pants.

It took a few moments for Draco to recover. His breathing gradually evened out and he opened his eyes. He asked, voice still remarkably breathless, "Do you want me to...?"

Harry flushed and shook his head. "I kind of already took care of that."

Draco's eyes widened and his gaze flicked down to Harry's crotch, which was visibly damp, then back up to Harry's blushing face.

"What happens now?" Harry asked, cheeks still aflame.

Draco shrugged, sinking down to rest himself more comfortably in the covers. "I suppose, now that one of us has given in –"

Draco's words instantly snapped Harry out of his lust-induced haze. "Now hang on.  _One_ of us?" he demanded.

Draco sighed. "Yes, one of us. I keep telling you, Potter, you feel the effects more strongly than I."

"So  _I_ gave in? You seemed to be enjoying it," Harry snapped, trying to fathom the ridiculousness of his arguing with a very naked Draco with come painted on his chest.

"I was aroused and you were helping. What did you expect to happen?" Draco questioned.

Harry's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Whatever," he said, starting to think this whole thing had been a bad idea.

"My point is," Draco continued, "we should probably be entering the next stage sometime soon. I'm not too keen on that, as we're not yet aware of how far this Bond will take us." Draco picked up his wand from the bedside table and Summoned his blanket to cover himself. Harry mourned the loss of view.

"What do we do until then?" Harry questioned.

"I expect we're powerless to do anything other than sit and wait," responded Draco.

Harry nodded. That would certainly be unpleasant. He didn't feel so good about himself now.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

It was a relief to get out of the house and go back to the apothecary. The tension in the air had become unbearable – Harry was angry that Draco wouldn't admit to being affected by the Bond, and Draco was adamant on pretending he didn't care or notice that Harry was mad at him.

Hermione arrived alone at the shop and bombarded both of them with questions at lunch hour, so none of them were able to get a meal.

"When was the last time either of you had physical contact before the Bond kicked in?" she demanded several minutes into the interrogation.

"It was after your trial, wasn't it?" Harry asked, a cold edge to his voice.

"Yes," Draco agreed. "I shook his hand after my trial at Wizengamot, to thank him."

"And that was the last time you spoke as well, or saw each other face to face?" Hermione questioned, scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment.

"Yes," Draco said again, and Harry nodded.

"And..." She punctuated the end of a sentence with vigour, glanced at the clock and turned to look at them. "One more question. When was the last time you made contact?"

"Didn't you already ask that?" Harry asked.

"She means, Potter," Draco said, "the last time we communicated in any way."

"Oh."

Hermione surveyed the pair of them with an investigative gaze, then smiled triumphantly. "I knew it!" she exclaimed. "There  _was_  some means of contact after that!"

"Yeah, I mailed him his wand back, and he replied with a simple thank you note," Harry said lightly. "So?"

"A  _brief_  thank you note," corrected Draco.

"You..." Hermione stared at them blankly. "You...gave him back his wand?"

"Yeah, via owl post," Harry said impatiently. "Why does it matter?"

Hermione looked extremely excited. She gathered her books and papers, bundling them back into her bookbag. "But don't you see?" she grinned. "This changes  _everything_!" She leaped to her feat. "Oh,  _boys!_  This is incredible!" She practically assaulted Harry with an overenthusiastic hug, paused, then pulled Draco into a considerably shorter one, which nearly made him choke with surprise. She then leaped out the door, practically skipping.

"Any idea what that was about?" Harry asked, chancing a glance at Draco.

Draco's brow was furrowed in deep thought. "No," he finally said. "Not in the slightest."

Harry watched as he got up and walked to another room, where he closed the door behind him. Harry understood Draco was going into what he personally liked to call thinking-mode – no one would possibly be able to get through to him during that span of time, and Harry wasn't enough of an idiot to try.

 


	11. Chapter 11

Draco was brewing a potion that evening when Harry entered the room. They smiled briefly at each other, neither being very genuine ones. Draco wasn't an idiot – he knew the bond was taking a toll on them, but he wasn't very big on expressing what was on his mind, so he kept his feelings to himself and ignored the Hippogriff in the room.

"What you making?" Harry asked.

"Volubilis Potion," Draco replied shortly. "The Ministry ordered them today. Apparently, a bunch of them have gone and lost their voices on some stupid mission or other."

"Can I help?" Harry asked, peering at the currently green potion.

"You can pass me the mint sprigs," offered Draco as he sprinkled Honeywater into the cauldron. The potion turned a bright, startling pink.

Harry went to look for them while Draco lit a fire underneath the potion. "You know, avoiding each other isn't going to help," Harry said conversationally.

"I wasn't aware you were avoiding me," Draco replied easily.

"Stop pretending you don't give a fuck," Harry snapped. "That isn't going to get us anywhere." He tossed him a handful of mint sprigs, and Draco dropped them into the cauldron. The potion, which had somehow become orange over the course of time they had been speaking, turned green again.

"I don't understand what you're talking about, Potter."

"Yes you fucking well do!" Harry shouted. "You can't ignore this forever."

"Ignore what, exactly?" Draco asked, adding more mint nonchalantly. The potion turned pink once more.

"Oh for...never mind," Harry muttered. "Why does it keep doing that?" he demanded.

"Doing what?" Draco asked, pouring a portion of horrible-smelling Stewed Mandrake into the mixture. The potion became orange again.

"Changing colour so often!" Harry snapped. "Is that really necessary, or are you just showing off?"

Draco glared at him. "I feel no need to show off – my skills speak for themselves." He twirled his wand in one hand, Summoning a jar of Syrup of Hellebore effortlessly. "But I know what's bothering you, Potter," he smirked. "And why you're so bothered by my colourful potion."

"Pray tell, why is that?" Harry said, sounding extremely annoyed.

"Because you're terrified at the prospect of you being homosexual."

Harry's eyes snapped up and his jaw dropped. "How the fuck –"

"Simple, really," Draco drawled, pouring the syrup into the potion, which turned blue, then heating it again. "The multi-colours are a common symbol of the LGBT community –"

"How would you even  _know_ that –"

"I'm part of it, and I live in Muggle London," Draco snorted. "Well, I used to. The point is, Potter, the sight of so many colours infuriates you because you can't bear the idea of yourself being gay."

"That is not fucking true!" Harry yelled. "I mean, sure, it's a bit weird, but I wasn't even thinking about that!"

"But it was in your subconscious, which is why you loathe the very sight of it," Draco smirked. "You don't want the press to get a hold of this, to publish your name in big bold letters stating that the Chosen One is gay. You can't stand the idea that I'm the one who could be turning you –"

"It's not as if I have a choice –"

"So you admit it, then?" Draco sneered. "You admit that I'm turning you g–"

And then Harry punched him right across the face, striking him with such force that he was thrown backwards into the wall.

"You fucking  _bastard_ ," Harry hissed.

Draco felt something warm and wet run down his face – his nose was bleeding, but his pulse was racing erratically. Harry was glaring at him, positively livid, and the only thing Draco could think about what how fucking shaggable he looked when he was mad, and that he wanted to provoke Harry even further. "That's what bothers you, isn't it?" he asked, still managing to smirk despite the throbbing pain in his face. "That you just might be gay?"

"Shut the fuck up," Harry snarled, and he tackled Draco unceremoniously to the ground. Draco felt his head strike the hard floor painfully but couldn't find it in himself to care. "You don't know what it's like," Harry growled, pinning him down. "You have no fucking idea."

"In case you've forgotten, I'm the other party in this Bond," Draco shot back, struggling against Harry, who was far more muscular – Draco could feel the biceps in his arms flexing as they tussled – and considerably stronger.

"But you don't feel it as strongly as I do," spat Harry. "Or was that just another one of your articulate lies?"

The potion sizzled red behind them.

Draco aimed to punch Harry's face, but Harry ducked agilely aside and pinned his arm back down again.

Was it wrong that Draco was getting just slightly turned on by this?

He looked up and into Harry's eyes. A fire was burning behind the green, but he could barely see the green any more – it was only a ring around his pupils.

Apparently, he wasn't the only one enjoying this a little too much.

Harry moved suddenly, and Draco expected to get punched again when he felt teeth sink into his neck. He gasped, trying to fight Harry off, but then the sodding git removed his teeth from Draco's flesh and fucking  _licked_ at the mark he left.

"Damn it," Draco panted as Harry proceeded to press open-mouth kisses down his neck. "Is this... _fuck_...really necessary?"

"You're welcome to stop me at any time," Harry hissed before latching his teeth down onto Draco's collarbone.

Draco wanted to – really, he did – but at the same time he wanted to turn Harry over and fuck him into next week, which was an idea he was certain Harry wouldn't be comfortable with yet. He couldn't fathom how they had gone from a rather violent fight to this. "Mr. Mulpepper will have my head," he protested weakly.

"Then we'll just have to be extra quiet, won't we?" Harry said with a smirk that Draco found unbearably hot. Harry licked at the hollow of Draco's throat, causing him to gasp in pleasure.

"Oh, fuck it," Draco snarled, the last of his self-restraint gone, and with a sudden burst of strength, he flipped Harry over so he was on top. Harry's startled expression only fuelled Draco's lust, and he made quick work of Harry's t-shirt (read: he ripped it to shreds) and began to kiss his way down Harry's chest.

Harry tensed slightly, not sure where this was going, unused to this kind of attention. "Draco...what...?"

"Shut up and stop worrying," ordered Draco, mouthing one of Harry's nipples. Harry gasped above him, the sound shooting straight to Draco's half-hard cock, and grasped Draco's hair in his hands. Draco nibbled at the pebbled flesh tentatively, wondering if he liked pain with his pleasure. Apparently he did, because he squirmed and arched against Draco's mouth. Draco smirked into Harry's skin, using one of his hands to twist Harry's other nipple. Harry shuddered as Draco continued to lavish attention on him, reducing him to a writhing mess on the floor.

Eventually, Draco moved on, kissing and licking his way down Harry's stomach, pausing to dip his tongue into his belly button. Harry let out an animalistic moan which caused Draco to growl in response, his hands moving to unclasp Harry's trousers.

Harry tensed again, and Draco glanced up and nearly came on the spot at the sight of Harry's eyes, blown wide with lust, but also somehow looking rather innocent and confused. Draco soothed him by pressing a soft kiss to his stomach. Harry exhaled sharply and Draco gave him a cocky half-smile and began to palm him through his trousers. Harry's breath hitched in his throat, and then he was making  _noises_ , hot, soft, keening little noises that nearly had Draco coming in his jeans.

_He's so..._  Draco didn't dare to finish that thought. He undid the buttons and pulled Harry's trousers down over his thighs, his mouth watering at the outline of Harry's hard cock through his boxers (red, he noted with a roll of his eyes: how typical for a Gryffindor). He chanced a glance back up at Harry – he looked slightly frightened. Maintaining eye-contact, he mouthed Harry's cock through the fabric, a triumphant surge passing through him when Harry bucked his hips, his head falling backwards and colliding with the hard ground beneath. "Fuck," he gasped.

"That's the idea," Draco chuckled, pulling down Harry's boxers. Harry's cock was fully erect and undeniably a little larger than Draco anticipated, as he had been judging by Harry's shorter stature. Harry whimpered above him, perhaps due to the predatory quality in his stare. Meeting Harry's eyes again, he licked a long stripe up the bottom of Harry's shaft and was rewarded with a filthy moan that Harry didn't even bother to muffle. Draco hoped he had wandlessly set up a Silencing charm or something, because they were both certainly too far gone to do so now.

Draco licked a drop of pre-come from the tip of Harry's cock and smirked at the naïve widening of his eyes. He only paused long enough to give Harry time to process what he was doing before taking his swollen cock into his mouth as far as it would go, burying his possibly broken nose in the dark curls swirling upwards from Harry's crotch. Harry moaned helplessly, the husky quality in his voice making Draco even harder, as Draco sucked on the head of his cock, fondling his balls as went along. Harry wasn't extremely vocal, but each sound he made sent shocks of electricity down Draco's spine to fuel the heated pool in his stomach. He ground his hips against the floor, attempting to relieve some of the friction in his too-tight jeans. He was so painfully hot and hard, but he didn't want to stop – Harry was delicious in so many ways.

"Touch yourself," Harry said suddenly.

Draco stopped what he was doing. "What?" he asked, eyes widening.

Harry blushed (was it possible for someone to look both mind-numbingly sexy and heart-wrenchingly adorable at the same time?) and repeated with a soft stammer, "Touch yourself. Please."

Draco smirked, undoing his jeans unhurriedly, teasing Harry, who seemed enticed, though still embarrassed by his request. He slipped a hand into his boxers and stroked himself, letting out a tiny mewl at the feeling of having the pressure relieved slightly, then swallowed Harry's cock again. It wouldn't be long now – Harry was already squirming and writhing under his ministrations – but Draco didn't want it to end so soon, so he slowed down just a little.

"No..." Harry begged quietly, bucking his hips upwards. "Please, Draco...I need..."

Well, fuck. If Harry asked like that, there was no way he could say no, was there? Obliging, he took Harry as deep as he could and made a swallowing movement with his throat, humming in pleasure as he increased the speed of his own hand while holding Harry's hips down with the other. Harry practically screamed in response and Draco hollowed his cheeks, flattening his tongue, and sucked. Harry gave one last desperate moan before his fists clenched and he came with an almost imperceptible whisper of Draco's name. Draco relaxed his throat, swallowing as well as he could. He was determined to watch Harry unravel above him, but as soon as he heard his name falling from those lips, he was coming, too.

Several moments later, Draco untangled himself from Harry, who was lying with his eyes closed, sated, on the floor. He grabbed a piece of cloth from a shelf and gently began to clean off what he hadn't swallowed. Harry cracked open one eye in a way that was  _decidedly not at all cute_  and flushed when he saw what Draco was doing.

"You don't have to –"

"You were never so easily embarrassed in Hogwarts," Draco said, smirking.

Harry glared at him, hitting him lightly on the side of his arm.

"That's better," Draco grinned.

"Sorry about –" Harry didn't finish his sentence, instead gesturing lamely to Draco's nose. He outstretched an arm, and Draco watched with carefully disguised amazement as he Summoned his wand to himself wordlessly. Draco was about to make a comment about show offs when Harry gently took his arm and pulled him closer, so much so that he could count each lash above those green eyes. Draco's breath caught in his throat.

" _Episkey_ ," Harry said, and Draco felt a few bones snap back into place. The dried blood siphoned off his face as Harry muttered another spell he wasn't quite familiar with.

"Thanks," Draco said courteously, standing up and pulling his pants back on. Harry did the same, then looked at the remains of his shirt on the floor.

"Look what you've gone and done, you prick," Harry sighed. "That was a favourite of mine."

Draco rolled his eyes in disbelief. "You can nonverbally and wandlessly  _Accio_  objects, but you can't mend a shirt?"

Harry glared at him. "I hate you sometimes, you know that?"

"Only sometimes?" Draco sneered. "I must be doing something wrong."

Behind them, the finished potion had turned yellow and was emitting sparks.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

If Mr. Mulpepper heard anything at all during the next few days coming from brewery or storeroom, he made no comment on it. He didn't comment, either, on the few times when he came across the pair of them exiting a room together, flushed, and if he noticed the bruise blossoming on Draco's neck, he said nothing about it. He did offhandedly mention, however, that disorderly conduct wasn't easily tolerated in the shop, although he was willing to make exceptions. Harry wouldn't blame Mr. Mulpepper if he and Draco both got kicked out of the apothecary for good. With all the secret handjobs, they were lucky they made it through the week without exposing themselves to the entire Wizarding world. It was a miracle Draco got any work done.

Hermione noticed the change in their dynamic as soon as she stepped in through the door.

"What's happened?" she demanded as Ron sat himself down next to Harry.

" _What_ 's happened?" Harry asked. Draco came over to stand by the counter. Hermione's gaze flicked over him, as though taking in every ounce of body language he was giving out and trying to decipher it.

"You've...you've..." She pursed her lips, as if trying to find a way to phrase herself. "You've gone on to the next stage!" she finally exclaimed.

Harry blushed, Draco stiffened and Ron looked puzzled.

"What do you mean, Hermione?" Ron questioned.

"I mean they've...given in to the Bond," she said, shooting him a look.

"How so?" Ron asked.

Harry buried his face in his hands and Draco leered at Ron as if contemplating whether or not to hit him with a Stunning Spell.

"They've progressed to the next level of their relationship," Hermione tried.

"Err...?" Ron still looked confused.

"We have engaged in sexual activity," Draco snapped, causing a few heads to turn. Ron's jaw dropped and he looked like he was going to start coughing up slugs again. Harry wanted to crawl to a dark corner and hide.

"When was this?" Hermione asked, her voice high pitched.

"The first time was actually a couple of weeks ago," Draco said coldly. "But I understand why you did not notice it then, as we only came to terms with this a few days ago."

Hermione had removed a bundle of parchment from her bag and was already scribbling away. "Why didn't you tell me about this sooner?"

"I didn't think it'd matter –" Harry began.

"And you didn't ask," Draco added.

"Finishing each other's sentences?" Ron gaped. "I think I'm going to be sick."

"Oh stop it, Ronald," Hermione snapped. "You've been of no help whatsoever so far, so I don't think you get any say in this." While Ron opened and closed his mouth trying to retaliate, she turned back to Harry. "Have you begun to feel the advancement of the next stage yet?"

"No," said Harry.

Draco cleared his throat.

"Oh, sorry, Malfoy," Hermione said brightly. "I didn't think I'd need to ask you, seeing as you aren't as affected by the Bond. You might feel it much later than Harry."

Harry was certain he had missed something somewhere, but he didn't ask.

Draco scowled. "Well, he'll be sure to let you know if he feels any new stages coming on."

"I can speak for myself, thanks," snapped Harry.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Are you two sure you aren't already secretly married?"

"Shut  _up_ , Ronald, you're not helping –"

"Look here!" Harry snapped, wondering when he had become the sensible one of the lot, "I know this isn't easy for any of us, alright? But think of Draco and I –"

"Draco and  _me_  –" Draco corrected.

" – and what we have to go through," Harry said, shushing Draco with a look. "We're under a lot of pressure right now, and I think I speak for both of us when I say we'd really appreciate it if you didn't push us so much. We're only doing the best we can."

Silence fell among the four of them. Draco was looking at Harry with the oddest of expressions on his face. Hermione was watching both of them intently.

"I think..." She trailed off, frowning, then started again. "I think I know what's going on. I can't be sure, though...I have to get back to the library." She packed up slowly. "But...both of you had better be careful with how far you try to fight this. Perhaps that'll only make it worse." Without any more explanation, she turned and walked out. The tinkling bell signalled the closing of the door behind her.

"What was that about?" Ron wondered. "I'd better go after her."

Harry waited until he was gone before turning to Draco. "Do you know what's on her mind?"

Draco shook his head. "Not exactly. But I assume she believes we're tied by a more ancient and powerful object than we initially believed."

"Object?" repeated Harry.

Draco nodded grimly. "I've shared with her some of my theories, and she seems to have looked into them. She may be on to something, this time."

Harry stared out the door at the last place he had seen Hermione. The sooner they got to the bottom of this, the better – he could go back to Auror training (and being straight) and Draco could move out and focus fully on his work. But a part of him had gotten used to this life, and he was afraid that if he left it behind he would feel empty again.


	12. Chapter 12

Draco had taken to spending his restless nights reading on the living room couch, where he often fell asleep and awakened to find Harry in the other sofa, sipping a cup of coffee and writing letters. He also often woke up to find his own steaming cup of strong coffee waiting for him, courtesy of Harry himself, who always pretended he had nothing to do with it.

The same routine was set to happen again at eleven o'clock that Friday night. Draco had been sitting in his old Slytherin sweatshirt and reading a book on the Dark Arts' usage in Bonds – he wasn't as good at research as Granger, he'd have to admit – when he heard the sound of footsteps descending the stairs. He glanced up and smiled as Harry entered the room, shirtless (as per usual) and looking quite sleep-mussed.

"You alright?" he asked, averting his gaze from the expanse of gorgeously tanned skin (he had learned that denying how attractive he found Harry was impossible, although he still insisted that he only gave in to their lustful encounters because Harry initiated it) by turning back to his book.

"Can't get back to sleep," Harry admitted. Draco noticed that his hair was far more messy than it usually was – which was really saying something – and that it looked very, very good on him.

"A pity," Draco remarked.

Harry sat down at the edge of Draco's sofa, which was unusual, as they usually kept their distance around the house. Draco put down his book to look at him. Harry was blushing uncharacteristically, which instantly piqued Draco's curiousity.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Harry coughed nervously. "I...I've been wondering...if..."

Draco leaned in closer, intrigued – though he wasn't sure if it was the secret behind Harry's awkwardness or how enticing he looked when flustered that reeled him in further. "Spit it out, Potter," he said good-naturedly.

"You know...that thing you did?"

Arching an eyebrow, Draco smirked. "You'll have to be more specific than that."

"That day...in the brewery," Harry said quietly.

Draco thought about it. "What, you want free Potions lessons?"

"No!" Harry snapped, looking annoyed. Draco was enjoying this too much. "I meant...the other thing."

It took a while for Draco to realise what Harry meant. When he did, however, he grinned. "You mean the blowjob?" he inquired in his most businesslike voice, but just the memory of that day was already getting him aroused.

Harry nodded. "I was wondering if I could give you one."

Draco laughed, then sobered up when he saw how nervous Harry was in asking. Harry had only ever been with women all his life, and those had been few and far between. He probably had no idea how to give decent head, and the fact that Harry was asking for permission seemed to turn Draco on anyway.

"Where  _is_ this jumpy Chosen One coming from?" he smirked. "As far as I remember, at Hogwarts, you would be the first to willingly get himself into trouble. Where would I have gotten all my fun if you were like this?"

Harry seemed to gather courage from somewhere – perhaps Gryffindors had an infinite secret stash – and pushed Draco down so he was lying flat on his back. "No fun, am I?" he asked, grinning, and Draco couldn't help but shudder at the tone in his voice – it was almost possessive. He wasted no time unbuttoning Draco's jeans and sliding them easily off his legs, but his jaw dropped when he realised that Draco had gone commando. Draco watched Harry's expression carefully and felt a shiver run down his spine when he saw his jade eyes darken with pure lust.

There was a moment's hesitation and Draco realised that he wasn't really sure what to do. "Just go with it," he said encouragingly.

Harry nodded, then, very tentatively, he pressed open-mouthed kisses to Draco's thighs. Draco sighed softly, appreciating the attention and closing his eyes. Such simple actions probably shouldn't feel as good as they did, but he intended to savour them.

There was literally no warning before Harry licked a stripe up the underside of Draco's cock – Harry was learning from what Draco had done to him. Draco's eyes flew open and he moaned, his cock standing straight to attention within seconds, causing Harry to get bolder and take the head of Draco's cock into his mouth. He sucked experimentally and Draco whimpered –  _fuck_ , this felt good. Draco reached downward and threaded his fingers through Harry's hair, instantly surprised by how soft it was, to guide him along. Harry hummed in response, sending vibrations up Draco's aching cock. "Yes," Draco hissed softly and Harry sucked harder, his tongue beginning to draw patterns up and down the swollen flesh. What he lacked in experience, he certainly made up for in enthusiasm.

Draco let out a wanton cry when Harry took more of his cock into that talented mouth, pumping the rest of it with his hand. It took all of Draco's willpower not to buck his hips – he didn't want to hurt Harry, but that hot, filthy tongue was doing things to him he could never have possibly imagined. He mewled and slowly began to move his hips upwards to meet Harry's mouth. Harry didn't seem to mind, forcefully relaxing his throat and allowing Draco to have his way with him, guiding his hips into a more relaxed rhythm with hands that felt strong and warm on his body. Harry reached one hand down to stroke Draco's balls and hummed around Draco's cock. Draco wasn't quite prepared for the pleasure overload and he whimpered, writhing against Harry's mouth and almost attempting to curl in on himself out of surprised desire.

Draco gripped the raven-black strands of Harry's hair even tighter now, not so much guiding him anymore as to simply holding on for dear life. Harry was moaning in pleasure, grinding his own hips against the sofa –  _fuck that shouldn't look hot but it does_ – and sending even more vibrations down Draco's shaft. Finally, Harry dealt the fatal blow – he looked up at Draco with lust-stricken green eyes, and Draco made a desperate noise in the back of his throat, one he'd deny to his dying day. He yanked on Harry's hair by means of warning, but Harry held persistently on, and Draco couldn't take it anymore, spilling his seed into Harry's hot and ready mouth. "Harry," he moaned, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as he was consumed by pleasure.

When Draco opened his eyes, Harry was getting into a sitting position, coughing slightly. There was a string of come on his cheek. As soon as he saw Draco watching, Harry used his thumb to clean it off and sucked it into his mouth, and  _fuck_ , there was no way Draco was ready for another round, but if Harry's kept doing that, he was definitely going to be. Harry wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and the motion was so hot that Draco could have come again just from the sight of that alone.

"Not bad, am I?" Harry said with a smile.

"Not bad," Draco replied breathlessly.

"You said it, by the way," Harry added.

"Said what?"

"My first name."

With a jolt, Draco realised he had. "I can hardly be held responsible for what I say in the throes of desire."

Harry laughed, and the sound made Draco feel just a little more light-headed. "So you loved it?"

"I didn't mean...oh, fuck it," Draco sighed. He glanced down and noticed that Harry was still hard.

"Imagine how good I'd be at that after all your years of practise," Harry teased, lifting himself up and grinding his hips against Draco's.

"Hey, I can give just as good as I get," Draco smirked, snaking one hand down Harry's pyjamas.

Harry leaned over, his breath tickling Draco's ear, and whispered, "Prove it."

And Draco proceeded to do just that.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

Draco and Harry fell asleep together for the first time that night. It wasn't by any means intentional, done more out of sheer exhaustion, and Harry awoke to find a rather fetching blond in his arms. He wanted to wake him, but he was suddenly struck by the peaceful look on Draco's face. His breathing was therapeutic, and he was snuggled against Harry in a way that made Harry deduce that he fit quite perfectly against Harry's chest. The sight did funny things to Harry's insides.

And then the doorbell downstairs rang.

" _Half-breeds, mutants, freaks, begone from this place! How dare you befoul the house of my fathers –"_

Draco jerked awake and Harry leaped to his feet, pulling his pyjama bottoms on and throwing on a random shirt from the floor. "What the fuck is it now?" Draco groaned, rubbing his temples.

"Someone rung the doorbell," said Harry apologetically. "Hang on, I'll get it –" Running his fingers through his hair in a way that probably only made it messier, he located his glasses and dashed to the front door. He wrestled the curtains back into place over Walburga Black, double-checked himself to make sure there were no tell-tale stains on anything, and opened the door.

Standing at the door were Harry's two best mates. Hermione's face was flushed and excited, while Ron looked disgruntled. Harry stared at them. "Guys, you know better than to ring the doorbell," he sighed.

"Wasn't me, mate," Ron muttered. "This crazy witch Firecalled me at  _six_  this morning, telling me that I had to sneak her out of Hogwarts right away or else."

Harry smiled fondly at the rebel they had successfully turned Hermione into. "And to what do I owe this pleasure?"

"I know what's causing this, Harry!" Hermione grinned in a whispered shout. "I know what's causing the Bond!"

Harry's jaw dropped. "You do?"

"Yes! Quick, where's Malfoy? We need to discuss this immediately." She let herself in.

Ron followed behind her, turned to look at Harry, then frowned. "Err, Harry...what shirt is that?"

"Huh?" Harry glanced down at himself and flushed when he realised he had accidentally pulled on Draco's old Slytherin sweater. "I...uh..."

"Oh, grow up, Ronald," Hermione said. "I'm pretty sure Malfoy's had to borrow some of Harry's, seeing as he's been here so long. Besides, Harry and Malfoy have slept together multiple times already; there's nothing wrong with wearing each others' shirts."

Ron choked violently on whatever he was about to say.

"It hasn't been  _that_  many –" Harry began.

"Oh, never mind," Hermione sighed, striding up the stairs followed closely by Ron, who was gulping like a fish. Harry hurried after them. "Where's Malfoy?" she asked again.

"Just in the living room, but –"

Hermione ignored him, already halfway across the first floor with Ron trailing closely behind her. Harry panicked a little – he knew Ron was aware of his and Draco's...err...activities, but he wasn't sure if he'd like walking in on the scene of one. Before he could say anything, though, the pair had entered the room. Harry scurried in after them.

Draco was laying easily on the sofa, wearing nothing but his jeans, his hands resting behind his head. All evidence of the previous nights' activities had been cleared, and Harry found himself giving Draco a grateful smile.

"Can't you put something on?" Hermione asked brusquely.

"Good morning to you, too," Draco yawned.

"I'm not taking you seriously like that," Hermione said sternly.

Draco rolled his eyes. "As you can see, Harry's got my shirt."

Harry felt a warm, fuzzy rush tingle through his veins when Draco openly used his first name. He tried not to grin like an idiot as he pulled the Slytherin sweater over his head and tossed it to Draco with a mumbled apology.

Hermione turned to glare at Harry. "I have to be able to take both of you seriously, you know," she said.

Harry shrugged, moving over to sit next to Draco. "Scoot over," he said, and Draco sighed, mumbled something incoherent, and sat up to give Harry space. Ron was staring at them with undisguised disbelief.

"Oh, close your mouth and spare the flies," Hermione told him. "And sit down."

Ron collapsed onto the other sofa, looking scarred for life. Harry wanted to feel sympathetic for him, really, but his expression was extremely laughable and he had to concentrate on not bursting into chuckles. He chanced a glance at Draco – were they really that strange to look at? Harry wouldn't mind having Draco next to him every once in a while, or all the time, for the rest of...

Harry averted his gaze, preventing his thoughts from travelling down that dangerous direction.

"I'm not sure if both of you are aware of this," Hermione began, "but wands can create Bonds."

Harry glanced up at her. "Wands?" he questioned.

"Yes," Hermione replied. "In the same way that it is wands who choose the wizard, they also have an immeasurable power – that is, what is always believed to be them lining up with their owner's magical signature. However, this magical signature is nothing but myth – a legend told to make a wand's incredible magic easier to accept. The truth is, wands link to their owners by reading their very  _souls_."

Harry thought vaguely of his wand. The idea of it being able to look into his soul rather terrified him, but it explained quite a lot – that was why the wand that chose him had been linked to Voldemort's, because he had been a Horcrux and a part of Voldemort's soul had been lodged within him somewhere.

"There have been cases – rare ones – of people becoming linked after duelling and gaining another's wand," Hermione went on. "Of course, this doesn't usually happen, as one party typically has to be killed before ownership of a wand can be transferred, but in the cases that it has, it's worked quite a bit of chaos on two unsuspecting people." She began to pace the room. "These types of Bonds typically happened in stages as well, and stages very similar to yours. They also occurred mainly between rivals, as both of you were before, which goes without saying because the pair would have had to duel to gain ownership of the same wand." She stopped walking and turned to face them. "I don't have the resources to explain this completely to you, but that's the short of it."

"What led you to such extensive research on this?" Draco asked, frowning.

"Well, firstly, it was when you told me that your last contact was him sending the wand to you," Hermione said, ticking it off her fingers, "and also the fact that both of you seemed to be linked in a deeper way than merely physically. Also, combined with the information Luna's been giving me from Harry –"

"Luna showed you my letters?" Harry gaped.

"You've been writing to Lovegood?" Draco exclaimed.

"You can both talk later," Hermione interrupted before either of them could start an argument. "Besides, Luna is the main reason we're even having this conversation, so have some respect."

Harry shot Draco a triumphant glare. Draco opened his mouth to say something to him, but Hermione warned, "I said you can talk  _later_ , guys."

"What'd I tell you? Secretly married," Ron muttered.

Draco cleared his throat. "That's all very well," he said, lazily draping an arm over the back of the sofa behind Harry and making the skin on his neck prickle at the proximity, "but how does this relate to us?"

"I was just getting to that, you impatient prick," Hermione said, and Draco smirked. Harry raised an eyebrow – they had clearly formed a reluctant sort of friendship over hours spent discussing theories and doing research. "Before this bond started, Harry mailed you your wand back, the same one that he himself had used beforehand." She paused, waiting for a reaction.

Draco drew his Hawthorn wand and twirled it over in his fingers. Harry stared at it in awe – had  _that_  troublesome thing been the cause of all this mess. "It's a wand more noted for its contradictory nature than its strength," he said softly. "Could it truly have performed this Bond?"

"All wands can perform a Bond," Hermione replied shortly. "Besides, Hawthorn wands are known for being only adept to wizards and witches of talent due to the peculiarity of its nature. Many unskilled users have their spells backfire when using Hawthorn."

"I'm aware of that," Draco said, sounding a little reproachful. "I've read into a few of the cases of Wand Bondage, although I failed to catch the significance, which I commend you for doing." He paused, then went on, "I meant, is it strong enough to perform  _this_  Bond?"

Hermione frowned. "What do you mean?"

Draco sighed. "Salazar, must I spell it out?" he huffed. "Fine. As I said, I read about some of the Binding done by wands. In most cases, it occurred over the time span of several months to even years, not a few weeks. Very few have reported feeling each other's emotions, which is actually what got us here in the first place, or experiencing emptiness so profound that the only way for them to continue to exist was to attempt to dull it."

"You're not very good at spelling, are you?" Ron asked from his seat.

"It'd do you well to shut up and at least try to use whatever's in that head of yours, Weasley," Draco said menacingly. Harry kicked his leg by means of warning, causing Draco to glare at him. He glared right back, arching an eyebrow, until Draco looked away and sank backwards onto the sofa.

"Secretly married," Ron repeated pointedly.

Hermione cleared her throat. "Actually, I don't understand either, Draco," she said with a smile that suggested she was planning something devilish. "Care to elaborate?"

Draco gritted his teeth visibly – Harry felt a sudden urge to run his lips along his jawline to soothe him, but thought better of it; Ron would have a heart attack. "I meant," Draco said slowly, "that a Bond this powerful could not have possibly be caused by something like my wand."

Harry's jaw dropped, and he turned to Draco in shock. Draco ignored him.

"Wait a minute," Ron said suspiciously. "I thought you didn't feel the Bond as strongly as Harry?"

Draco ignored him, too, focusing instead on Hermione. "The Bond's sheer strength is incredible, and I've never seen anything like it reported before."

Hermione feigned a very serious look – even Harry could see through that; the twinkle in her eye was more than obvious. "I'm going to need a better description of its strength, if you want me to complete my research accurately."

Draco's jaw clenched, along with his fists. "I feel the constant need to keep Harry within my reach. If I don't feel him within my proximity or know where he is, I instantly begin to get restless, which is irrational, but such are the Bond's effects." He took a deep breath, deliberately not looking at Harry, who was watching him in awe and trying to control his own breathing, then went on, "I also find myself often thinking of him rather excessively, which I perhaps shouldn't be doing, and once I have him in my line of vision, it's rather difficult for me to want to remove him from it. There are also instances when –"

Harry would probably never know what instances those were, because he was suddenly extremely overcome by a mixture of shock and something else he couldn't place at Draco's admission, and before anyone in the room could process what he had done, he had reached across, placed a hand behind Draco's neck and pressed his lips against his, and they were soft and warm and nothing at all like he had imagined it was possible for lips to be – he hadn't been aware that a simple kiss could feel so good. Butterflies began to flutter in his stomach and of he hadn't been sitting down, his legs would have probably given out beneath him.

Draco stiffened instinctively, his lips immobile against Harry's. For a few seconds, Harry marvelled at the impulsiveness of his actions and waited anxiously, not sure if he was going to be unceremoniously shoved off or simply awkwardly remain kissing a statue, but after a moment, something incredible happened – Draco kissed back. His lips moved against Harry's, uncertain at first, then slowly gaining confidence until his hands came up to grasp Harry's face gently, and Harry hadn't expected that it could get any more perfect. In fact, Harry's vocabulary at the moment consisted solely of the word  _perfect_.

In the background, Harry heard Ron's cry of absolute outrage, but found that he didn't give a single fuck.

"We'll be in the kitchen, Harry," he vaguely heard Hermione say, and he kind of heard Ron protesting, footsteps fading away and the door closing, but he didn't really care – a giant Blast-Ended Skrewt could have broken down the walls and come parading in and he wouldn't have given it a single thought. Draco's arms had snaked around his neck, his lips still slightly hesitant, and Harry deepened the kiss, longing to be swallowed up by this extremely perfect feeling, relishing in the taste and scent and  _feel_  that was just so distinctly Draco.

Eventually, the need for air overcame them and they broke apart. Draco's cheeks were flushed, his lips puffy and his hair mussed from Harry running his fingers through it at some point or other, and Harry had never seen anything quite so wonderful in his entire life. He wanted to capture this image somehow, encase it forever in his memory, because he suddenly had the sad realisation that he may not get the privilege of seeing this again.

Harry leaned forward, gently pressing a chaste kiss to Draco's lips before pulling away and trying not to overthink things. "We shouldn't keep Hermione and Ron waiting."

Draco nodded, and Harry stood up, then offered Draco his hand. Draco hesitated for only a moment before taking it and following Harry out the door, but Harry caught a look of uncertainty in his slate grey eyes that frightened him.

"Ready?" Harry asked quietly.

"Ready," Draco said, but Harry wasn't sure if he was telling the truth.


	13. Chapter 13

Hermione and Ron were seated in the kitchen, sifting through a large amount of unfamiliar, hardbound books when Harry, with all his clothes on this time, and Draco arrived to join them.

"What's all this?" Harry asked.

"I got Kreacher to bring me some of the books from my desk at Hogwarts," Hermione smiled. "Aren't the Apparation abilities of house elves truly amazing?"

"Sure, but what for?" Harry demanded, staring at the headache-inducing expanse of reading material.

"Honestly, I expected both of you to take a lot longer than that," Hermione grinned, causing Harry to turn red. "I thought I'd have some time to conduct my research here. I'm honestly surprised that you're both here already."

"It was just a kiss," Harry muttered, cheeks flaming. Draco let go of his hand and walked over to the table, inspecting a particularly large book with interest.

Ron was staring at Harry and Draco with a mixture of disgust and grudging respect. "It's going to haunt me forever," he groaned.

"Just a kiss?" Hermione asked, frowning, looking up from her book. "Are you saying you've...never kissed each other before today?"

Harry and Draco shook their heads in unison, and Harry took pleasure in the fact that Draco was blushing along with him.

"Interesting," Hermione said quietly, but didn't elaborate. Before Harry could ask her to, she pointed at something on her book and murmured, "That's odd..."

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"I'm reading about the known Masters of the Elder Wand," she said slowly. "You know, to see how duelling and wand ownership works. But it says here that before Gregorovitch, there are two possible masters."

"Two?" Harry repeated.

"It says here that no one is quite sure who inherited the Wand before him," Hermione read. "It's between Arcus and Livius, two wizards with seemingly no prior companionship whatsoever."

"Let me see that," Draco said, and Hermione passed the book to him. He frowned, then his expression cleared and he stared at Hermione in shock. "Granger, do you realise what this means?"

Hermione seemed to contemplate something, then her eyes widened. "Are you implying that...?"

Draco nodded mutely.

"But that's not possible!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Guys!" Harry called, waving his arms to get their attention. "What's this about now?"

Draco launched into explanation. "What if it isn't between Arcus and Livius? What if they were both Masters of the Elder Wand  _during the same period of time_?" He looked extremely excited – or as excited as a Malfoy ever looked – and Harry tried very hard not to find this trait cute. "That means it  _is_ possible for two Masters to exist."

"But I thought a wand can only have one owner at a time," Ron cut in.

"Perhaps, but what if ownership passed between both of them without either dying?" Draco went on. "The fact that no one seemed aware of who actually owned it could mean that they were both viewed as one entity by the general public."

"Are you saying that they were...Bound? So no one really knew who owned it?" Harry asked, struggling to comprehend what all of this might mean.

"This is all wild conjecture," Hermione said sternly. "We can't possibly assume that Arcus and Livius spent time together."

"But that would explain everything, wouldn't it?" Draco pressed on. "Harry is the current Master of the Elder Wand, isn't he? And I was once one, too. If the Elder Wand was what was binding us, it might explain the strength of the bond."

He let his words ring across the kitchen for emphasis.

"Guys, we're forgetting something," Harry cut in. Heads turned in his direction. "I snapped the Elder Wand in half after the war."

"You  _what_?" Draco gaped. "You snapped a magical artefact containing immeasurable power? Of all the stupid, noble things I thought you capable of, Harry..."

"Newsflash, guys," Hermione said. "It's not impossible to mend a wand. But if the Elder Wand is really what's causing the Bond...you're going to have to get your hands on it to break it."

"How do you propose we do that?" Harry asked, scowling.

"Simple," Hermione said. "If anyone's mended the Elder Wand, the Ministry would have had something to do with it. And since you're going to have to go there to tell Kingsley you've figured it out to get back into Auror training, you might as well kill two birds with one stone."

"These Muggle sayings..." Ron muttered.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Draco interrupted. "Work like that, even if it had been done, would have been done under extreme secrecy. We aren't supposed to know about it."

"Since when have secrets been successfully kept from us?" Harry grinned, remembering the adventures he, Ron and Hermione had encountered at Hogwarts. "We'll find a way."

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

Draco came out to the living room later that night to find Harry lounging on the couch, practicing an intricate charm on a piece of paper. It folded into tiny pieces, then twisted and formed into an elegant origami swan. He flicked his wand once, and the paper crumpled as far as it could go and imploded.

"Destructive tendencies," Draco drawled, coming up to sit on the other sofa. "Tsk, tsk."

Harry turned to Draco. "Shut up," he grinned, flicking his wand again and drawing a figure eight in the air. The fragments of the destroyed paper joined back together, forming a crinkled mess. Harry jabbed his wand at it, and it smoothened out into perfect shape.

"Show off," Draco muttered, trying not to get turned on by the sheer power of Harry's magic.

"You're just jealous," Harry replied.

Draco allowed himself to laugh at the absurdity of the statement. They fell silent, Draco watching the fire in the hearth dance merrily, Harry flicking his wand over the paper.

"You're my first kiss, you know," Draco admitted quietly.

The paper sculpture of a Hippogriff, forming quite nicely, dropped to the floor when Harry looked up sharply. "What?"

"You're my first kiss." Draco could feel himself grow embarrassed at the confession.

Harry sat up and stared at him. "I'm...what? How?"

Draco shrugged. "I could never bear the idea of kissing a girl. The only one I ever dated was Pansy, and of course nothing pleasant could come out of that." He paused to smirk at the dreadful memories. "I experimented with boys, of course, but only ever sexually. I got close to snogging Blaise at some point, but we were interrupted." Draco slumped into the cushions. "I might be very sexually versatile, but I've never...simply kissed anyone for the sake of it."

Harry was chuckling in the next sofa. "First kiss at eighteen years old. Not bad, Draco."

Draco flushed. "Stop judging me."

"I'm not. I think it's cute," Harry teased.

Draco glared at him. "Your perception of such matters is highly skewed."

"Perhaps," Harry replied, getting up and seating himself next to Draco, who looked away. "Hey, don't get all upset. We have lost time to make up for." He reached out for Draco.

Draco instantly stiffened and backed away, standing up. He didn't want Harry to kiss him again – he was frightened of the feeling he had felt earlier when it happened; scared of how vulnerable he had been. Harry had the power to hurt him, and that was a power he wanted to evoke as soon as possible. "It's late," Draco said softly, trying not to look at Harry's confused expression. "I'm going to bed." Without waiting for a response, he hurried out the door.

As Draco lay awake in his bed for several hours after, he wondered what was wrong with him. There was nothing wrong with having a little fun with the Bond – any mistakes could always be blamed on it later – but he suddenly felt a lot less confident than he had previously when it was just sex. This new territory felt foreign and strange.

Draco suddenly felt empty again.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

Harry tossed and turned a lot that night. Draco's rejection stung him a lot more than it should have. He was the logical one – he should know that they were only acting on the bond, he should know that when it was all over they would be able to laugh at their silliness with no feelings or strings attached. Why was Harry the one taking the chances when he didn't even know what was happening to him?

Then again, that had always been him, hadn't it? Reckless, foolish. Going for things even when he didn't fully comprehend them.

Savage may have been on to something. He was just extremely lucky.

He rolled over, trying to close his eyes and failing, instead just lying there and staring at the ceiling. An old feeling was creeping back up on him, the feeling that he was incomplete.

_This fucking Bond!_

Just as Harry was ready to knock himself out with a Stunning spell just to get some sleep, he heard a creak on the floorboards outside. His hand instantly flew to his wand, but the move was more a reflex than an actual precaution. The wards he'd cast on the house were sound, and besides, he already knew who was walking outside. Draco probably couldn't sleep either and was walking around the house. Harry hoped it was because he was affected by Harry's agitation – served the bastard right.

The footsteps stopped suddenly and Harry wondered if Draco knew he was awake and was pausing to listen at his door to be sure, or if he had simply gone onto the next landing with surprising agility. He sighed, because even to be a little closer in proximity to Draco and just to know where he was seemed to make the emptiness recede. How did the people Bound this way before deal with it? If Arcus and Livius had really been rivals and Bound, how the fuck did they get used to this?

Harry started as the doorknob began to turn. That was one thing he had not been expecting, but he felt surprisingly calm as he trained his eyes on it. There was a moment's pause, then the door began to creak open, and Harry watched as Draco stepped into the room. He wasn't wearing a shirt, Harry noticed, just those fucking jeans, and it should really be illegal for someone to look that good.

Harry hated himself for thinking that way, hated the Bond for making his think that way when Draco, despite all he had said, clearly didn't feel the same way.

"Can't sleep either?" Harry asked as good-naturedly as he could in his bitterness, but he saw Draco visibly wince at the harsh tone in his voice, which wasn't normal – Draco was always so careful in hiding his expressions. "Sorry. I didn't mean it that way. I'm just tired."

Draco nodded once, then came over and sat down on the bed next to him. Harry sat up, wondering what was coming – was Draco going to tell him this whole thing was a mistake, and that they should keep their distance from now on? Or was he going to say that they should go to the Ministry as soon as possible – right now, in fact – and get this over with so he could move out?

Then Draco did something Harry hadn't expected at all. He took a deep breath, leaned in closer, and pressed his lips sweetly against Harry's.

Even through his shock, Harry responded immediately, one hand reaching up to cup Draco's cheek and his other arm snaking around Draco's waist. Draco pulled away after a moment, then leaned in to kiss him again, more passionately this time. He licked experimentally at Harry's lower lip and Harry opened his mouth, allowing Draco to explore. Draco was inexperienced and his kisses were sloppy and their teeth clashed more than once, but Harry was getting so light-headed and it was just so  _perfect_  (there was the one-word vocabulary issue again) that it didn't quite matter. Their tongues battled for dominance and Harry figured this was so like them – competing in every way possible. He ran his tongue over the roof of Draco's mouth, eliciting a moan.

Draco broke away from him, breathing heavily. Harry tried to catch his own breath, staring at Draco's dilated pupils and messy hair and  _fuck_! Every time he thought the idiot couldn't look any more fetching, he went and looked like  _that_.

"I hate you," Draco hissed, his face set in a glare. "I fucking  _hate_  you."

"The feeling's mutual," Harry responded, connecting their lips again, pulling Draco's bottom lip into his mouth and sucking on it. Draco growled in response, pushing Harry back down onto the bed, using the advantage of being on top to take control of the kiss. Harry instantly saw where this was going and shoved Draco off of him, rolling over to pin him down. "No you don't," he whispered.

Draco pushed him back. "I'm not letting you fuck me, Potter."

Back to the surnames again? Why did Harry find it so hot this time? "I think you are," he replied, struggling as Draco attempted to switch their positions. With some effort, he managed to pin Draco's hands above his head. It was hard to keep them there, though, as Draco kept fighting back. In an effort to distract him, Harry leaned down and ran his tongue along the hollow of Draco's throat, a spot which he learned gained the most reaction from Draco. Draco's mouth fell open and he moaned, arching back his neck to expose more skin for Harry to sink his teeth into, which he wasted no time in doing.

"Don't you fucking  _dare_ ," Draco hissed, freeing one hand and jerking Harry's head back by his hair. Harry gasped, losing concentration for a moment, which allowed Draco to flip them over and latch his teeth onto his earlobe. Harry moaned, all the blood from his head rushing southwards, and Draco proceeded to lavish attention down his chest, kissing and licking his way down to his stomach, where he paused right over Harry's already hard cock, which was straining against his pyjama bottoms. He unhurriedly bypassed it and went on kissing down Harry's hips and thighs.

"Fuck, Draco," Harry whimpered.

Harry felt Draco smirk against his skin. "I thought you wanted to do that," he said, coming back up to lick a trail down Harry's chest.

Not wanting to hear any more sarcastic comments, Harry ground his hips upwards into Draco's, causing the man to cry out filthily. Harry took advantage of his distraction to reverse their positions again, forcing Draco down onto the bed and unbuttoning his jeans. He was quickly learning that Draco preferred not to wear underwear at all, which was an incredibly hot detail Harry liked to keep stored at the back of his mind. He held Draco down carefully, as he was still trying to regain dominance, and pulled them off. They got stuck around his ankles, and it took quite a while for him to figure out how to remove them until Draco helped by kicking them off. Harry looked up at Draco, who was attempting to push Harry down again. Harry pinned him down effectively.

"Fucking Gryffindor," Draco growled. "Always has to be on top of everything."

Harry bit down on Draco's nipple to shut him up. He wanted Draco to be mindless with pleasure by the end of this, which meant he shouldn't be able to form a coherent sentence. To achieve this, Harry took Draco's cock in his mouth as deep as he could without gagging. Draco mewled, falling back onto the bed, writhing as Harry sucked him off enthusiastically. "Harry..." he whimpered, and Harry nearly came from that alone. "Harry, fuck..." He bucked his hips and Harry nearly choked, his hands flying to Draco's hips to steady him. He shot Draco a glare, but he was pretty sure Draco didn't notice – his back was arched and his eyes were shut in ecstasy, and when he looked like that, how could Harry not forgive him?

Harry hollowed out his cheeks, his hands holding Draco's hips down, gripping tight enough to bruise. He could feel Draco beginning to tense, and Draco's hands where tangling pleasurably in his hair. Harry hummed around Draco's cock in approval and bobbed his head up and down, not exactly sure if he was doing it right, but hoping so anyway. Draco looked down at him, watching, and Harry found it unbearably hot. He was impossibly aroused, his erection almost painful, and he rutted against the bed to relieve the friction. Draco moaned helplessly as Harry sucked especially hard, and before either of them knew what was happening, Draco was writhing and crying out Harry's name. Hot come spilled down Harry's throat, and he swallowed as much of it as he could, although admittedly, he couldn't take much of it quite yet.

Draco was panting hard, and Harry smiled at how utterly debauched Draco looked. "Looks like I'll be doing the fucking, huh?" he teased, coming back up to face him. There was a flash of uncertainty in Draco's eyes and Harry remembered Draco saying that he had never let anyone fuck him before. He wondered if he had taken it too far. "We don't have to do that," Harry soothed, gently pressing a kiss to Draco's forehead.

Draco shook his head. "No, it's okay, I..." His voice turned husky and he cleared his throat. "I want you."

Just when he thought Draco couldn't say anything hotter.

Harry crushed his lips into Draco's, hard enough to bruise. It was hot and wet and desperate and conveyed every single bit of passion Harry was feeling. Draco was moaning into Harry's mouth, the sounds swallowed up by Harry's own, and by the time they broke apart, Harry was pleased to note that Draco's bottom lip had split down the middle. He looked thoroughly shagged, and an odd surge of possessiveness ran through Harry.

"Tell me what you want, Draco," Harry murmured.

Draco shuddered, but still managed to make a scathing comment. "You mean tell you what to do, because you're a clueless prick, am I right?"

Harry shrugged. "That's not how I'd word it."

Draco sighed. "Got any lube?" he asked as he peppered kisses down Harry's throat.

"Err...no," Harry replied, finding it a little hard to concentrate.

"None at all?" Draco grinned, tracing the shell of his ear with his tongue. "You must be starved of action."

Harry moaned, trying hard to keep his focus, but he was achingly hard and Draco wasn't helping. "It's not as if I...fuck..." He lost track of what he was going to say.

"You don't fuck?" Draco grinned, now latching his teeth onto a sensitive spot he had just discovered below the pulse point in Harry's neck. Harry moaned again, his head falling onto Draco's chest. "I was under the impression that you were about to."

"Stop distracting me, you git," Harry said, trying not to smile. "I'm trying to fuck you properly here, and if you don't want to help..."

Draco sighed. "Fine. Do you have your wand with you?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Say  _Accio Lube_."

"You're kidding."

"I have some in my bag. Hurry the fuck up, will you?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Planning on getting lucky, were you?" he asked.

"Potter, if you don't get that fucking lube right now, I'm going to leave," Draco snapped.

Harry chuckled. "As if you could," he smirked. He couldn't find his wand – it had probably tumbled off the bed at some point when Draco was ripping the sheets – so he just raised his hand instead. " _Accio Lube_ ," he said, holding his hand outstretched. A few moments later, a bottle flew into the room and into Harry's hand.

Beneath him, Draco made a keening noise that shot straight to Harry's cock. "Must you always do that?" he moaned.

"Do what?" Harry was genuinely surprised – he hadn't done anything.

"Show off like that," Draco muttered.

Harry grinned. He had never realised that Draco noticed all the times he'd done magic without a wand or simply non-verbally, because he himself barely gave it any thought. "Does it turn you on?" Harry whispered, leaning down to brush his lips against Draco's ear. Without saying a word, he straightened up and nonverbally vanished his own pyjama bottoms and boxers, feeling a rush of satisfaction when Draco's spent cock twitched. "Does this make you hot?" he murmured.

Draco's breathing sped up. "Fuck, yes," he moaned.

Harry smirked, popping the cap of the bottle of lube wandlessly as well, though he had to whisper the spell for this one because he couldn't remember the trick to pulling it off wordlessly. Draco whimpered, and Harry couldn't help but chuckle. He could work with this kink of Draco's.

"You're going to have to prepare me," Draco said. "I've never..." He trailed off.

"I know," Harry replied. "How exactly do I...?"

"Oh for fuck's sake, give me that," Draco snapped, snatching the bottle from Harry. "How did you ever save the Wizarding World?" He poured an amount of the liquid onto him fingers. Harry watched, mesmerised. He had no idea what was going to happen next, but for some reason, the mystery only turned him on further.

Draco slipped a hand behind his arse, spreading his legs. Harry swallowed nervously, chancing a glance up at Draco to see if he noticed, but he was looking rather embarrassed himself. Before Harry could question what he was doing, Draco slicked one of the fingers on his hand and slipped it into his hole. Harry's jaw dropped. Draco's face was red from embarrassment. "Not a word, Potter," he muttered.

"I was just going to say how hot you looked," Harry said with a smile. "But if you didn't want to hear that..."

Draco relaxed a little at the compliment, and Harry watched, transfixed, as Draco began to pump the finger in and out of his own body. It only took a few more seconds before Harry practically pounced on Draco (he was only human, after all) and pulled his finger away.

"What are you –" Draco began, but Harry shushed him, pouring a generous amount of lube onto his own fingers, then gently pushing one in to replace Draco's. Draco moaned quietly and clenched around him – fuck, he was so tight.

"Is that alright?" Harry asked.

"A bit weird, but alright," Draco replied.

After a minute, Harry slipped in another finger and began pumping them in and out the way he'd seen Draco do it. Draco made soft noises, but they were more from the Harry's movements than from actual pleasure – Harry could tell. He wondered if this would work the same way with guys as it did with girls. Experimentally, he crooked his fingers, moving them around, and brushed against something.

The change was instantaneous. Draco mewled, rocking his hips back into Harry's hands. "Fuck," he gasped. "Do that again."

Harry did, running his fingers over that spot, and Draco writhed and moaned in a way that would give a porn star a run for his money, rocking his hips. Harry began to stroke himself to the erotic scene, but had to stop after a moment to prevent him from coming too fast and ruining it all.

Draco was hard again, his cock standing to attention once more. "Harry...Harry, please..."

"What do you want, Draco?" Harry repeated the same question he had asked in the beginning.

"Fuck me, fuck me, please..."

Harry's eyes widened. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Draco whimpered. "Harry, I need..." In an effort to get his message across, Draco rocked back into Harry, a litany of impossibly minx-like noises falling from his lips. "Now, please..." he begged.

_Fuck._ Harry didn't need to be told twice. Reaching for the lube, he lathered some onto his cock and slowly rubbed the head against Draco. He watched Draco's face carefully and, hoping to Merlin he was doing this right, he pushed himself in. Draco gasped, his eyes screwing up, and Harry stopped to catch his breath. Draco was almost painfully tight, and the warmth was so incredible it took all of Harry's restraint not to start moving immediately. He gently pressed a kiss to Draco's chest, and pushed himself in until he was completely sheathed within Draco. It was probably the single most amazing thing he'd even experienced, but he was concerned about hurting Draco and forced himself to stay still.

"You good?" Harry panted.

"Yeah," Draco gasped. "Just give me a second."

A few moments later, Harry felt Draco unclench around him, and he relaxed in Harry's arms.

"Move," Draco murmured.

Harry obliged, thrusting slowly. It was difficult to find a rhythm when consumed by such mind-numbing pleasure, but Draco guided him gently, wrapping his legs around Harry's waist and pushing himself down to meet Harry's thrusts. Harry bit back a groan at the sensation – this felt so fucking good. He slowly began to experiment with angles, trying to find that spot again...

Draco cried out desperately when Harry located it. "Harry," he moaned.

"Tell me what you want, Draco," Harry said.

"More," Draco whimpered. "Please, more..."

Harry took pride in the fact that he could reduce the puffed up Slytherin to this squirming mess. He increased his speed, reaching forward to pump Draco's cock in time with his thrusts. He wasn't going to be able to last much longer – he didn't want it to be over so quickly, but at the same time he needed this, he needed this so fucking bad. He battered Draco's sweet spot as hard as he could, relishing and drinking in every single noise Draco made, every single filthy cry. He leaned down, muffling Draco's moans with his mouth.

"Harry," Draco moaned out his name again, and that was all it took. With a shout of Draco's name, Harry came inside Draco. Draco followed soon after, arching his hips as Harry milked him of all he was worth, mewling and writhing until every last drop was spent.

Harry collapsed beside Draco. There wasn't a lot of space on this bed, but just enough if they kept close enough.

"Still hate me?" Harry panted.

Draco smirked. "More than you'll ever know."

"What if I did this?" Harry asked, waving his hand and casting a silent  _Scourgify_ on both of them, cleaning off the mess. Draco smiled and shook his head.

"You'll have to stop that," he said. "I don't have the energy for another round." He closed his eyes, but Harry could see that he wasn't really relaxing.

"Stop it," Harry said.

Draco cracked an eye open. "What?"

"I can hear you thinking," Harry replied. "Just sleep. We'll worry about this tomorrow."

Draco nodded, but Harry knew he wasn't convinced. He wondered if it was okay for him to start worrying about falling for this man, or whether that was just the Bond and he shouldn't fret about it. But...he had a chance, didn't he? Draco was gay, after all, and it wasn't like Draco didn't like him at least a little, and he knew they could be compatible if they tried.

Harry shook his head – now  _he_ was thinking too much. He'd just face each day one step at a time, and hope that when the time came, they'd feel the same way – either with no feelings after the Bond, or with real feelings despite it.


	14. Chapter 14

The next morning was rather disorienting for Draco – he wasn't in his room, nor on the sofa. It only took a moment for him to remember what had happened the previous night, and when he did, he felt his cheeks flush. He turned to the side to look for Harry, but realised he wasn't there.

_Shite._  He must have done something wrong. He had read the situation all skewed – he shouldn't have come on to Harry like that. Now he had gone and ruined the whole thing due to his stupidity. He pushed the covers off of himself and pulled his jeans back on. He'd just sneak out of here and pretend last night hadn't happened – it wouldn't make it go away, but if Harry was regretting it, it might make him feel better.

The door swung open before Draco could even get off the bed, and Harry walked in. Draco tensed immediately, but was instantly surprised when Harry smiled. "Ah, you're awake," he said with a grin. Draco realised that he was holding a cup of coffee, which he held out for Draco. Draco flushed, realising that he had jumped to rather ridiculous conclusions. He had to stop overreacting – all that had only ever gotten him nowhere.

"Thanks," he said, taking the mug.

Harry sat down next to him. "I was thinking of going by the Ministry today," he said. "I want to tell Kingsley that I know what's happened to me, so I can get back to training."

Draco looked at him carefully. "What do you think will happen when we tell him out absurd theory?"

Harry shrugged. "Only one way to find out, right?"

Draco nodded, taking a sip of his coffee, which Harry had already learned to make perfectly. "I don't think we should go alone," he said at last.

Harry frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You're desperate to get back to training, and I'm not exactly a noteworthy source. Neither of our words will be worth much," Draco replied. "Besides, the press will have a field day if they spot us out together, alone. We should have someone with us who knows her stuff."

"I don't mind the press," Harry said after a moment. "But I see your point. Kingsley might not believe us. Are you suggesting we take Hermione along?"

Draco nodded.

Harry smiled. "Okay. I'll go Firecall her. You stay here and enjoy the coffee."

Draco watched Harry leave the room, an odd pang beginning to spread in his chest.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

A few hours later, Harry, Draco and Hermione paced down the halls of the Ministry, moving swiftly towards Kingsley's office. Hermione had been eyeing both Harry and Draco oddly since they left Grimmauld Place, but she wasn't the only one. Mutters and murmurs followed them wherever they went. Harry wasn't sure if they were talking about him, Draco or both, but he did know that he felt an urge to wrap his arms around Draco each time he flinched almost imperceptibly at a particularly harsh comment.

"Ignore them," Hermione said, striding briskly. "They don't know either of you. They have no right to judge."

"Easier said than done," Harry muttered, shielding his face from a group of curious passersby.

When they entered Kingsley's office, they found the Minister already seated behind his desk, professional mask on. Harry's heart sank when he saw Proudfoot and Savage in the room as well, standing on the right side of the desk, looking grim. As soon as they entered, Kingsley told them to sit. There were only two chairs in front of the table. Harry pulled one of them for Hermione, gestured for Draco to take the other one (he knew if he pulled it for him like he'd done for Hermione, Draco would probably hex him into the next century), and Conjured a chair for himself, which he pointedly placed next to Draco before sitting on. He saw Savage stiffen and felt a surge of triumph.

"I trust we can skip the pleasantries and get straight to it?" Hermione said before anyone else could speak. "I have a class at two."

"The insolence!" Savage cut in. "As if we haven't had to adjust our schedules for this..."

"Are the presences of Hermione and Mr. Malfoy necessary, Harry?" Kingsley asked gently.

"Yes," Harry said firmly.

Kingsley nodded. "Alright. Tell us what has happened. It has been quite a while since we saw you last."

"As instructed, I've discovered what happened to me to make me lose concentration during training," Harry began.

Kingsley's expression was carefully guarded, but after weeks spent trying to decipher Draco's, Harry could see right through it – it was a mixture of disbelief and interest. "Very well then, Harry. Go on."

"Minister, have you ever heard of a Wand Bond?" Harry asked.

Draco nudged him, possibly to tell him that the term was incorrect. Harry nudged him back, trying to tell him that he didn't care.

"Wand Bondage? Yes, I've heard of it," Kingsley replied.

"Hermione has theorised that Draco and I are the victims of a particularly strong version of this Bond," Harry explained. "Which is easily explained, seeing as Draco and I have shared wands in the past."

"You and Malfoy? Bound by the magic of wands?" Savage interrupted again. "But that would mean..." He stared at the pair of them for a moment, then shook his head and sighed. "I'm getting too old for this."

"This is a serious matter, Harry," Kingsley said slowly.

_Yeah, you're telling me._

"What stage have you progressed to?"

"I've lost count," Harry said nonchalantly, causing Savage to gape at them. "What do you gather, Draco?"

"I believe we may be at the fifth," Draco said, his expression cold and confident, but his voice betraying slight nervousness that Harry wasn't sure anyone else in the room could detect. Harry reached out under the table and took one of Draco's hands in his own to calm him. Draco squeezed his hand and went on, "But as we aren't one hundred percent sure what the stages are, we could have progressed beyond that as well."

"Did you at any point even attempt to fight it off?" Savage asked, sounding surprisingly polite, but again, Harry had gotten quite good at reading people's expressions – Savage was trying to get him into trouble.

Hermione spoke before Harry could. "Fighting it, had such a foolish act been done, would have resulted in far more damage than can be fixed," she said, her tone icy. "I was an advisor the entire way through – I watched the stages pass. I assure you that there is no way it could have been held off."

Kingsley held up a hand to prevent any further outbursts. "Have you broken the Bond, then?"

Harry shook his head. "No, sir."

"And why not?"

Harry hesitated, then said, "We don't think the Bond's caused by an ordinary wand, sir."

"What do you mean by that?"

Harry took a deep breath, then said quietly, "We all infer that it's possible that it's been caused by the...the Elder Wand."

A dead silence fell across the room. Proudfoot was the first to react. "I thought you snapped that in half, Mr. Potter."

"I did, sir," Harry replied. "But it's not impossible to mend a wand."

Kingsley had grown extremely silent. He watched the trio with carefully guarded eyes. "I don't believe it's possible that such an event has occurred."

Draco spoke first. "You've mended it, haven't you? You sneaked it in and fixed it, unbeknownst to all of us."

"Excuse me, Mr. Malfoy –"

"I'll bet you fixed it at the same time Harry started losing concentration," Draco went on, smirking. Hermione was staring at him in shock. Harry placed a hand on his arm in an attempt to calm him down, but Draco shook him off. "I'll bet you probably already had your suspicions when Harry fell back in training – you knew it had something to do with the Elder Wand."

Proudfoot was watching Kingsley, eyes narrowed, as if trying to read his mind. Savage, however, looked outraged. "You dare accuse the Minister For Magic of this crime!" he yelled. "You have no grounds for such assumptions! How dare you –  _you_ of all people, a former Death Eater, accuse a good man of a crime that doesn't even measure up to what you've committed."

Draco stared at Savage unblinkingly, his face carefully blank.

"There may be grounds to this accusation," said Proudfoot reasonably, averting his eyes from Kingsley's face and focusing on Draco. "But you should tread carefully, Mr. Malfoy. Your past has not been erased. That Concealing Charm isn't fooling anyone." His eyes travelled over Draco's left forearm.

Harry started, and turned to look at the skin there. How had he not realised this before? The Dark Mark wasn't there, and Harry hadn't seen it at all during the entire time they had been spending together. He understood why Draco was hiding it– anything to avoid stares and whispers – but he had kept the Charm on even when they were alone. He glanced at Draco, searching for an explanation, but Draco avoided his eyes pointedly, looking uncomfortable. Harry felt a sudden anger at Proudfoot for bringing it up.

"I don't think it's fair that we hold on so much to what we've done in the past," Harry said. "Sure, everything we do has consequences, but is it really right to continually judge someone for something they've more than made up for?"

"A fair point," Hermione said approvingly.

There was a brief silence, then Kingsley, who hadn't spoken up to this point, stood up. "Well, Harry, I suppose you've fulfilled the task set to you. You are to return to training next Monday. Proudfoot and Savage will arrange to have you paired up with your old partner." He nodded to the three of them, then to the two trainers. "You are all dismissed."

"That's it?" Hermione demanded. "You're just going to kick us out without any real answers?"

Proudfoot and Savage were already making for the doors. They were out of the room before Harry could turn to look at them.

"I'm afraid I have none of those answers here for you," Kingsley said. "If you'll excuse me, I have work to attend to."

Harry, Draco and Hermione left the office, frowning. "There's got to be a way to find out what's going on," Harry exclaimed. "We can't just give in like this!"

"Mr. Potter!"

Harry turned to the sound of his name, surprised to see Proudfoot standing across them. "Yes, sir?" he called respectfully.

"A word," he said. "With all three of you."

Harry cautiously approached him, Draco and Hermione trailing behind him. They came to a stop in front of him. "What is it, sir?"

"I'm not sure if you are aware of this," Proudfoot began, "but Wand Bondage cannot be broken unless the wand itself is destroyed."

"We're aware," Harry assured him.

"But you aren't really," Proudfoot contradicted. "You see, whether the Minister has the Elder Wand or not is besides the point, Mr. Potter – a request to destroy an object of such high value for the sake of two people alone would not be fulfilled, no matter who currently possesses it."

Harry glanced at the ground – he hadn't thought of that. "We'll be stuck like this...forever?" he asked.

"If it is really the Elder Wand that is to be blamed, then I'm afraid so," Proudfoot replied. "So I will ask you now, Mr. Potter – are you sure you want to go through with your training?"

That was one thing Harry didn't doubt for a second. "I'm sure."

"How do you propose to cope with the fact that you have both missed several training sessions  _and_  will be distracted by the Bond?" Proudfoot questioned. "You cannot possibly hope to bring Mr. Malfoy along with you. Not only would the Ministry go wild, it would be impossible to go for your actual assignments dragging an untrained man behind you. Besides, I am certain Mr. Malfoy has work of his own."

"I'll manage," Harry said evenly.

Proudfoot sighed. "I suppose you really are attempting to live up to your status as the Golden Boy, aren't you? Everyone expects you to become an Auror, so that's exactly what you do."

Harry didn't reply. Not many people would believe him, but becoming an Auror had always been an ambition of his. It was what he had wanted to do for years – no one had ever ordered him to have this dream.

"Begging your pardon, sir," Hermione said suddenly. "If I may, isn't it true that Wand Bondage will only be present until a certain stage is completed?"

Proudfoot nodded. "Yes, but I've only seen so many get that far."

Hermione frowned slightly. Harry could practically see the gears whirring in her head, but didn't dare ask her what she was thinking about.

A Charmed memo swooped in on them and floated next to Proudfoot. He took it and skimmed through it, then looked up at them. "Duty calls. I'll see you next Monday, Mr. Potter," Proudfoot said. "Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy." He walked briskly away.

Harry turned to face his two companions. Hermione's expression was thoughtful. Draco was silent, his silver-blue eyes shining with something like defiance, and his fists were clenched. Harry reached out to touch his shoulder. Draco leaned into the touch unconsciously while Hermione watched the exchange with analytical eyes.

"What did you mean?" Harry asked.

"About what?"

"The bond only lasting for a certain number of stages?"

Hermione shook her head. "It's something I read; probably inaccurate. Forget about it."

Harry cocked an eyebrow, but Hermione seemed serious, so he didn't press it.

"Harry, we  _will_ find a way to break this bond," Hermione said quietly. "You have to believe that."

"I do," Harry said.

The words seem to echo across the hall. They were empty.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

Draco stared out the window of his bedroom. His mother had told him before that he must never feel afraid, because no matter what, somewhere in the world, someone is experiencing the exact same thing as you, even if it was a Muggle on the other side of the world. Draco found that hard to believe, now – surely no one else, Muggle or otherwise, felt quite the way he did now. He didn't even know exactly how he was feeling, himself.

There was a knock on the door, followed by its swift opening. Draco didn't have to look to know that Harry was standing in the doorway.

"Can I come in?" Harry asked.

Draco nodded at the window and listened to the sound of Harry's footsteps as he came to sit next to Draco. Without a word, Harry reached out and gently took his left arm in his hands, pulling up the sleeve to reveal the skin on his forearm. He felt Harry's fingers gently trace patterns over it, and still he refused to look at him.

" _Aparecium_ ," Harry murmured, pressing his finger into the flesh.

Draco didn't need to chance a glance at his arm to know that a horrible, faded, rusty-red tattoo of a skull and a snake was beginning to show up on his skin. He felt too tired to jerk his arm away, and almost too exhausted to care what Harry thought of him now. He just continued gazing out the window, transfixed by something in the distance that he couldn't really see.

He finally turned to look when he felt lips press against his arm, against the mark, which still felt tender. "What are you doing?" he questioned.

Harry smiled, pressing one last kiss to the hideous object marring his skin. "I'm trying to tell you I don't care," he said. "I have scars, too."

Draco glanced up at Harry's forehead, where his hair mostly obscured the old mark.

"Not there, you git," Harry laughed. "Here." He held out his right hand, face down, and clenched it into a fist until it turned white. Draco could see faint red scratches running along it, and he touched it gently, holding it so that the light illuminated it. They seemed to be spelling out...something...

"I must not tell lies," Draco read. "Why do you...who...?"

"Umbridge," Harry smiled, by means of explanation. "That was her idea of detention."

A rush of fury pounded through Draco's blood. If he had known the horrible things she was doing...things like  _that_...he wouldn't have worked for her so eagerly. Or would he have? He wouldn't know – he had been a different person back then.

"Hey," Harry said, smiling. "It's okay. It's part of what's made me who I am. That's the best part about scars, you know? They're not all bad. Dumbledore had one on his knee. Perfect map of the London Underground."

Draco chuckled, his heart suddenly feeling a lot lighter at the acceptance Harry was giving him. He didn't feel like he deserved any of it.

Then, slowly, Harry reached over and unbuttoned Draco's shirt. The movement was different from previous times this had happened – there was nothing sexual about the way Harry did it. He felt Harry run one hand over a certain spot in his chest and tensed. Harry pressed a kiss to his neck, an attempt to relax him, and whispered the same spell again. " _Aparecium_."

Draco glanced down at his own bare chest and saw three long scars slowly come into appearance. They were nothing more than pale marks across his skin, but Draco had never liked to look at them, so he hid them as well. Harry gently touched each of them, running a finger along each line. Finally, he kissed Draco's neck again and pulled Draco slightly closer. Draco allowed himself to rest his head against Harry's chest as a sign of forgiveness, which might have looked odd from a witness' standpoint due to the fact that Draco was several inches taller than Harry. Harry wasn't brilliant at comforting others, but he did the best he could.

Draco felt himself grow tired, and the last thought he had as he closed his eyes was that yes, someone did feel exactly the same way as him, and that person happened to be a Wizard, lying here with him right now.


	15. Chapter 15

Work at the apothecary became quite subdued that week. At some point, Harry had told Mr. Mulpepper what had happened (excluding the bit about the Elder Wand, which he didn't think anyone else should know about), and told him that it would be nearly impossible to break the Bond now. Mr. Mulpepper had responded with a simple, "Ah, but do you really want to?" and walked off.

As they prepared to Apparate out of the shop at the end of the day, Draco turned to Harry. "Harry, I was wondering if...you'd come with me to do something."

Harry smiled. "It's not like I have much of a choice, eh?" They had experimented a few times over the week with distances – Draco going to get a cup of coffee without Harry, or Harry leaving the house for a walk alone – but each attempt had ended the same way: they would return looking winded and exhausted and would have to be in the other's immediate presence for a few minutes.

Draco seemed nervous, which wasn't easy to tell because of the quiet dignity with which he held himself, but Harry noticed anyway, and he was instantly curious. "What's up?" he asked.

"Remember when my father was admitted to St. Mungo's?" Draco said. "I...I haven't visited him since I moved in to Grimmauld Place."

Harry couldn't believe he had been insensitive enough to forget about that. He remembered the depression transferred to him from Draco when Lucius had fallen ill, and he wondered if Draco had been carrying that grief around with him the entire time. It had nearly crippled Harry – how was Draco strong enough to handle it? "You want me to go with you to St. Mungo's?" Harry questioned.

"I mean, you aren't really required to," Draco said hastily. "It's not like it's your problem. I would just really –"

"It's fine, Draco," Harry smiled reassuringly. "How about we go right now?"

Draco looked at him blankly. "Now?"

"Yes, now," Harry repeated. "I'm sure he's missed you. We'd best not keep him waiting."

For a moment, Draco just stared at Harry. The next second, he had thrown his arms around him and captured Harry's lips in his own. Harry felt his knees grow weak – Draco had certainly improved in the kissing department – and smiled, kissing him back.

Someone cleared their throat behind them. "Not in my shop, boys, if you please," Mr. Mulpepper said.

They broke apart. "Sorry, sir," Draco said, but he was still grinning – the sight was so rare that even Mr. Mulpepper looked surprised.

He shook his head fondly and sighed. "Kids, kids..." he muttered to himself as he walked away.

Harry turned to look at Draco, who was still smiling and looked as though he was glowing. A shadow of doubt suddenly crossed the radiant expression, and he frowned. "You do realise that there will be reporters about?"

Harry hadn't thought of that, but for some reason, he didn't care. "It doesn't matter," he replied. "They'll have to find out sooner or later. I'd rather they saw us when we meant them to, and not by sneaking up on us and snapping a few photos."

Draco looked at him sadly. "You really don't read the Prophet anymore, do you?"

"What do you mean?"

"There were a few snapshots of us, when we were at the Ministry," Draco responded.

"I thought you couldn't take photos in there."

"You can't, but someone did and sold them off," Draco replied.

Harry shrugged. "Are you bothered?"

Draco looked taken aback. "No, but –"

"Then neither am I," Harry said.

Draco smiled again, and Harry realised he was going to have to keep trying to make that happen – it was really something to look at.

"St. Mungo's?" Harry asked, reaching out a hand. Draco took it and nodded, and together, they Apparated into the hospital.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

It hadn't been too bad at first. There were only two reporters on standby for interesting cases, sitting in the lobby, and at the start neither of them noticed Harry and Draco entering. There job there, Harry supposed, was more to interview people coming in from more serious magical accidents and get a mini-story than publish a front-page spread, and both looked rather bored. It wasn't until they passed them and entered the lift that one of them saw Harry and squinted at him for a moment before the lift doors shut.

When the doors reopened, Draco and Harry filed out of the elevator and a nurse told them to wait while she checked if Lucius was awake. Before she did, though, she looked at Harry strangely.

"Aren't you Harry Potter?" she asked. At the sound of the name, a few heads turned.

Harry smiled politely. "Yes."

She glanced between Draco and him, looking slightly confused and a trifle worried. "Is something the matter? I assure you Lucius Malfoy has not left his room and his illness is very real –"

Harry wanted to roll his eyes. "Nothing's wrong. I'm just visiting a good man. Is there a problem with that?"

Draco was watching the nurse icily. She glanced at the clipboard in her hand, uncertain where else to look. "Of course not, Mr. Potter. Excuse me, I'll check on him." She hurried off.

The pair waited in silence. Harry tried to ignore the stares he was getting – it would be so easy to snap right now, which would just caused a lot more problems for them.

The nurse scurried back into the room. "He's awake, Mr. Potter. Would you –"

"He's not my father," Harry replied, starting to get severely annoyed. He hadn't realised that a large portion of the Wizarding World was still prejudiced. It was something he'd have to work on changing when he felt like starting a world revolution. Or maybe he'd just leave that to Hermione. "I think you should be telling this to his son."

The nurse flushed scarlet. "Mr. Malfoy, your father is awake. Would you like to see him?"

Draco nodded once, and she turned and led them towards his room. When they were out of sight of the waiting area, Draco turned to give Harry's hand a squeeze. Harry smiled in return.

"Do you want me to wait outside?" Harry asked.

Draco shook his head.

The nurse opened the door for them and rushed off again, probably too embarrassed to look anyone in the eye, and Harry followed Draco in to the ward. The scent of sickness was thick in the air, almost enough to make Harry suffocate. On a solitary bed in the middle of the room lay Lucius Malfoy, surrounded by what was probably a form of quarantine Charm. He didn't look as bad as Harry imagined he'd be – he was certainly very pale and far too thin, but the light hadn't died out of his eyes yet, and that was always a good sign.

"Draco," he said with a tired smile – his voice was nothing but a croak. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me."

"Never, father," Draco replied, and Harry could see he was holding back tears. He struggled not to reach out and pull him into a hug. "I've been rather preoccupied." He took a seat on the chair next to the bed, and Harry sat down next to him.

Lucius glanced at Harry. "Mr. Potter," he said cordially, and Harry was surprised not to see any suspicion in his gaze. "What brings you here?"

"I'm...accompanying Draco, sir," Harry replied uncertainly, not sure as to what he was supposed to say.

"I saw you and Draco at the Ministry in the Prophet," Lucius said conversationally. "Become bosom friends, have you?"

A Malfoy was being humorous. Harry could scarcely believe it. "Something like that."

"We can tell him," Draco said to Harry.

"Ah, so there's a reason for all of this, then?" Lucius asked. Before either could reply, he broke into a fit of coughing. Harry levitated a glass of water into the Quarantine Shield.

They waited for Lucius to take a drink, then Draco spoke, "Harry and I have been...Bound."

"Bound?" Lucius asked, frowning.

"We've become rather reluctant participants in Wand Bondage," Draco said quietly.

Lucius stared at them in silence for a few moments. Neither Harry nor Draco said anything until he spoke, "That's a rather serious matter. I studied some of that in my time. Have you attempted to destroy the wand?"

"No, father," Draco replied. "It's the Elder Wand."

Lucius spluttered, and Harry had to bring him another glass of water. It took a good minute for him to calm down enough to speak again. "Perhaps we could discuss this when I recover," he said, his breathing slightly harsher than normal.

At this statement, Draco bit his lip, and Harry watched as he fought back tears. Unable to take it any longer, he reached out and took Draco's hand in his. Lucius' eyes followed the movement, and he eyed Harry thoughtfully. Harry held on anyway, and Draco didn't push him off. He seemed to gather strength for a moment before speaking again. "Yes, perhaps, father, but –"

"I'm not going to die yet," Lucius interrupted stubbornly. "No matter what those bloody Healers say."

Harry squeezed Draco's hand encouragingly.

"I wish mother could come to see you," Draco said softly. Harry had never seen this side of Draco before, and oddly enough, he felt privileged to be allowed to, although he wished it was under different circumstances.

"It's a good thing she can't," Lucius replied.

Draco stared at him, dumbstruck, and Harry mirrored him.

"That's the only reason I'm still alive," Lucius explained. "I have to see her before I die. I won't allow myself to pass on without seeing her once more."

Draco trembled slightly, but Harry suddenly believed him. He had something to live for, to fight for, and that was what was going to keep him alive. He had always viewed Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy as the "bad guys" – he had never thought of them as a married couple who loved each other as much as they clearly did – but now he knew better. He wondered vaguely if his own parents loved each other that much, and what he had missed out on witnessing in his childhood.

Lucius got tired quite quickly, and Draco and Harry took that as their cue to leave. Before they could walk out the door, however, Lucius called to Harry.

"Mr. Potter," he said, clearly straining his voice to be heard. "A word?"

Harry nodded. Draco motioned that he'd wait outside. The door swung shut, separating them, and even that little bit of distance already made Harry feel a little less whole. He walked over to the bed and sat down again. "Yes, sir?"

Lucius glanced at the door, as if checking to see if Draco was listening, then rasped, "Take care of Draco for me, please."

Harry started. "But, sir, I'm just his Bond-mate. I'm not –"

Lucius smiled. Draco had clearly inherited that trait from his father – it was a surprisingly soft gesture when it was heartfelt. "Perhaps that's what you think," he said quietly. "But remember my words, Mr. Potter. Take care of him. He needs it."

Harry left the room feeling slightly confused. Draco looked at him questioningly. "What did he want?"

There was no point lying to Draco – he'd see right through him. Besides, Draco needed to hear this. "He told me to look after you," Harry replied. "He really loves you, you know."

Draco nodded sadly. "I know."

Before Harry could say anything else, someone walked up to them. "Excuse me, Mr. Potter, and...erm...Mr. Malfoy. I was wondering if you could answer a few questions?"

Harry glared at the journalist, not even bothering to check if he was recording him. "This is a hospital," Harry snapped. "Some things are sacred. If you have the luck to bump into us out on the street, then you're welcome to interview us." He turned away from him, grabbing Draco's arm. "Come on, Draco," he said, steering them away from prying eyes and into the elevator.

"That was probably a rash decision," Draco noted as the lift began to descend.

"You're not helping," Harry said.

"And that's news because...?"

Harry laughed. "You know there's going to be swarms of reporters in the lobby, right?" he asked.

"I'm aware of our inevitable demise, yes."

The lift chimed and the doors began to open. "Ready?" Harry grinned.

Draco smirked back. "Ready."

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

The rest of the week went by a little faster and with less drama, especially since Draco was more open with Harry. A part of him was still extremely guarded, but Harry was willing to wait for that to unfold, because he'd learned that all the mysteries behind Draco's eyes were always worth being patient for.

Harry counted down the days to the restarting of his Auror training, which was looming dangerously near. Although he had spoken with confidence to Proudfoot, deep down both he and Draco knew that Harry's leaving would probably be extremely painful for both of them. Draco would have to get through his day at the Apothecary, and Harry would have to get through his first day back at training without being flayed alive by Savage.

Neither of them spoke about it, being the boys they were, instead choosing to completely avoid addressing it. Still, there were ways they attempted to get closer. They took walks around Muggle London, just to get some fresh air, they spent a lot of time actually talking (and arguing), and Harry got woken up by a blowjob on Friday morning (needless to say, they were extremely late at the Apothecary, and all through Mr. Mulpepper's lecture, Harry's head was filled by the memory of Draco riding him).

Hermione and Ron called in on Saturday to check if they were alright. Harry's smiles and Draco's reassurances were, by that time, getting a bit forced. Neither Hermione nor Ron was convinced when they left.

It wasn't until Sunday when things finally came to a head. It was afternoon and Harry was lounging on the sofa in front of the fire, practising wand movements again, while Draco read in the other sofa. It was such an ordinary routine for them that they fell into it naturally, not needing to say anything to fill the silence – it was a comfortable one.

Not so much today, though.

"I don't understand," Draco said quietly.

Harry looked up from where he was. "The great Draco Malfoy doesn't understand something? The world must be ending," he smiled.

Draco didn't even attempt to laugh.

Harry stopped waving his wand, setting it down on the table. "What's wrong?"

"I don't understand why you have to go and be an Auror."

Harry didn't know where this was coming from. "It's always been a dream of mine," he said slowly.

"Is it, though?" Draco asked, looking sceptical. "Or is it just because you miss being the Ministry's poster boy?"

Harry glared at Draco, who wasn't even looking at him – still reading that stupid book. The prick was treading dangerous ground. One wrong step and Harry would probably hex him. Taking a deep breath, he tried to calm himself down. "Excuse me?"

"It's no secret that the Ministry no longer has your back," Draco drawled easily. "You're no longer the hero; people have forgotten that, like they forget everything else, but they still expect you to be an Auror. That's why you're doing it, isn't it? To get back in their good books? So everyone will see you as a hero again?"

Harry felt his blood begin to boil. Why was Draco talking to him like this, and about a topic he was so sensitive about? Draco knew better than to bring it up. Hadn't they gotten past this a long time ago?

But they hadn't ever really called a truce, had they? They'd never agreed to be friends. Everything had just happened to them, and they'd just taken it. Maybe without the Bond, they wouldn't have been anything more than enemies. Maybe that was it, maybe that was why Draco didn't care whether he hurt Harry's feelings or not – they weren't really anything; merely Bond-mates forced together by things they couldn't control. The thought made Harry even angrier.

"I'm not sure if you know this, Potter," Draco went on, and the sound of Harry's surname nearly made him want to punch Draco in the face. "But the image really doesn't suit you – the hero image. You hardly have the type of face a kid would hang in her room, and I can't quite picture your name engraved in gold, can you?"

Harry was one second away from hexing the git when he noticed something. Draco's hands, still clutching his book, trembled. If Harry hadn't spent weeks watching Draco, he would have never noticed. It was a small movement, and it didn't happen again, but Harry knew he'd seen it. And suddenly, everything made sense.

Draco was scared. He was scared of what would happen when he and Harry parted ways tomorrow morning. He didn't know how they'd make it through the day, and the idea of the horrible unknown terrified him. Harry understood, because he was feeling the exact same way.

"Is that how you're going to be, Potter, when they announce your name to give a speech? Silent, unknowing what to say?" Draco was still taunting him. "I don't know why you even bother. It's not as if –"

Harry crossed the space between them in two long strides and yanked Draco up to a standing position by the collar. Draco's book fell to the floor. Draco glared at him defiantly in the eye, just daring Harry to punch him. Harry didn't do that, however.

"You're a fucking idiot," he growled, and crushed his lips against Draco's.

Draco let out a soft cry of surprise, but only struggled for a moment before snarling and returning the kiss deeply, his fingers tangling themselves in Harry's hair. The kiss was desperate and angry, and Harry felt Draco's hands trembling. He pulled away immediately when he felt something wet on his nose.

Draco was crying. It wasn't obvious – it was only one or two tears, his eyes barely even got red, and he didn't make a single sound, but what spoke to Harry the most was the sadness in his eyes. Harry had a sudden recollection of the only other time he ever saw Draco cry back in sixth year in the bathroom, and what he had done to him. Gently, he leaned forward and kissed one of the tears on Draco's cheeks. "You're really a major git, you know that?" he murmured affectionately.

Draco smiled in return. "You wouldn't have me any other way."

"No, I wouldn't," Harry agreed. He waited until Draco was finished before gently pulling away. "You know what we should do tonight?"

"What?" Draco asked quietly.

"We should go on a date," Harry said decidedly.

"A...date?" Draco questioned, quirking an eyebrow.

"It's odd, isn't it, that we've never been on one before," Harry said with a grin. "We've snogged and shagged and all that, but I haven't taken you out even once. What a horrible gentleman I am."

"You aren't one at all," Draco smirked.

"So?" Harry questioned, feeling irrationally nervous. "Will you go out with me tonight?"

Draco pretended to think about it, then smirked. "It's not like I have anything better to do," he said offhandedly.

It was strange how happy and light Harry suddenly felt. It wasn't as if they had never done anything romantic due to the Bond; he shouldn't be acting like this. But somehow, this felt...different. A good different. Besides, Draco was smiling now, and there was absolutely no way Harry could feel bad about that.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

As embarrassed as he was to think of it, Draco had never been on an actual date before. Apart from taking Pansy to the Yule Ball in fourth year, everything he'd had from then on were friends-with-benefits and half-hearted affairs with random Slytherins, and one with a Ravenclaw – never an actual date.

Harry seemed to sense that and acted perfectly gentlemanly. It was almost like a real first date, aside from the fact that as soon as Draco showed up downstairs wearing the only nice clothes he had brought along, Harry had nearly kissed him senseless. They Apparated to Muggle London and Harry took Draco to an Italian restaurant.

"How did you know I like Italian?" Draco asked.

"You told me once, remember?" Harry said. "When we were arguing about where to buy lunch."

Draco couldn't believe Harry remembered little things like that, but realised that he, too, remembered lots of near-useless trivia about Harry.

Everything went by in a blur for Draco. Harry did everything in the proper manner Draco had been taught when he was a kid – he held open doors, pulled out Draco's chair for him and always let Draco walk ahead if they had to pass somewhere narrow.

"I didn't know you were so well-bred, Potter," Draco teased at one point.

Harry flushed. "I may or may not have asked Hermione for some pointers," he admitted.

And Draco definitely didn't find that in any way adorable.

Oh, who was he kidding?

Harry paid for dinner, despite Draco's protests. "A gentleman always pays on the first date," he said.

"Is that another statement from Granger?" Draco chuckled.

"No, that was from Ron."

"Salazar. Is there anyone you didn't tell about this?"

Harry laughed. "The rest of the Wizarding World," he replied as they left the restaurant.

"There's one thing you forgot about, Harry."

"What's that?"

"We're both gentlemen."

Harry laughed. "Yeah, but I asked you out."

"You're really ruining my Pureblood reputation here."

Harry smiled. "Well, there is another way you can repay me..." he hinted deviously.

Draco Apparated both of them out of there so fast he was certain they would've Splinched themselves.


	16. Chapter 16

The next morning, Harry went with Draco to the apothecary.

"Won't you be late for training?" Draco asked him.

"I can Apparate straight into the room. I'll be fine," Harry replied.

Draco didn't reply. It went unspoken that both of them were simply trying to stall for time.

Harry helped Draco set the shop up for the morning. Mr. Mulpepper made himself scarce as soon as he saw the looks on their faces, disappearing into his office.

Harry glanced at the clock. Draco knew he was due for training at eight. It was seven fifty-five.

"I have to go now," Harry said.

Draco nodded. "I know."

"I'll see you as soon as training is over. I can come by for lunch, if you want."

"It's alright," Draco replied, trying to smirk. "I need some peace and quiet."

Harry smiled. "It'll be okay, Draco."

Draco nodded again. "I know," he lied. Harry leaned over, pressed a kiss to his cheek, and Apparated away.

The emptiness didn't settle in straight away, or even at all when Harry left, which Draco was surprised by. Instead, he felt numb. He wasn't sure which was worse.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

Harry tried not to get distracted during training, but it was hard, especially because he was told there were reporters hanging around the Ministry's main lobby, waiting for him to show his face, which he didn't plan to do. Oddly enough, there was none of that emptiness he had anticipated – instead, he couldn't feel anything at all. Everything went by in a blur, but a very slow blur. Ron didn't comment, and Harry had to admit he was glad he was able to work with Ron instead of someone he didn't know. Not only did Ron alert him whenever he spaced out, he also kept his mind off of Draco by talking about other things. Most of them were random, unrelated and made no sense, but Harry appreciated the effort.

It was only around lunch time when he started to feel that something was missing again, but it was different from before. Perhaps he had just gotten used to it. The lunch table was oddly silent without Neville there, which only added to Harry's messed up thoughts. He knew he should Apparate to the apothecary and have lunch there, because he knew by now Draco would probably want him to, but a part of him stubbornly refused to because Draco had said he'd be fine. Harry couldn't help but smile at the thought. Even in his deepest misery, he still wanted to start arguments with Draco. Maybe that was something that would never change.

Finally, evening arrived. Harry was immensely glad when training ended, but before he could even think about Apparating away, a memo floated down into his hand. It said Kingsley wanted to see him. Harry groaned. He didn't feel like meeting the Minister For Magic just yet. He replaced the charm on the memo and had it fly off somewhere else. Hopefully by the time anyone noticed, he'd be long gone.

Ron rolled his eyes. "I'm not making any excuses for you."

"Then you're just going to have to escape quickly, too," Harry replied.

They were about to step outside the training hall when Hermione came into view, pushing past a poor old wizard trying to charm a large stack of cursed files into submission.

"Hermione!" Harry exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

Hermione didn't answer directly. "Why don't we sit down and have a drink?"

Harry wanted to refuse, but he took one look at her face and decided he'd rather endure the numbness for a little longer than have to face her wrath if he refused.

They went to the cafeteria and sat down. None of them ordered any drinks.

"How're you feeling, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"Pure rubbish, thanks, but that'll be fixed as soon as I get to the apothecary," Harry replied, hoping to cut the meeting short.

"Do you still feel empty?" she questioned, ignoring his hints.

"Yeah, that's why –"

"No, Harry," Hermione said impatiently. "Really. Do you still feel empty?"

He sighed. "No, just numb. Look, Hermione, can't the explanations be done at the apothecary?"

Hermione ignored his hints again. "Only numb?"

"I feel like something's missing, but in a different way from before. Listen, Hermione –"

"No, Harry,  _you_  listen!" she snapped. "This is important."

Harry fell silent obediently.

"Do you remember what I was saying the other day to Proudfoot?" she asked. "The bit about Wand Bondage only being present until a certain stage is completed?"

"Yeah, you said it was probably incorrect information."

"I was just telling you that until I could research it more properly," Hermione said. "And I did, and I think I know what type of Wand Bondage yours is, Harry. We've been going about this all wrong the whole time."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, frowning.

"The Bond stopped existing when you and Draco kissed for the first time," Hermione stated.

"What?" Harry demanded. "That can't be, that was at least a fortnight ago! And I'm still feeling it now –"

"No, you're not, Harry. You have to listen." Hermione waited until she was sure he wouldn't interrupt, then elaborated, "The Bond's effects don't just disappear, Harry. You and Malfoy built a bond of your own during that period, which was all the Elder Wand really wanted you to do. The kiss broke it off. From then on, whatever feelings you had towards each other were all your own."

"That can't be right!" Harry interjected.

"Think about it, Harry," Hermione said. "Did anything about that dynamic change between you and Malfoy after you kissed? What happened after that?"

"Err...well, we shagged –"

"Too much info!" Ron snapped.

Hermione glared at him. "Unfortunately for you, Ronald, I need more than that statement. Besides, Harry, I didn't mean physically."

"Oh," Harry said, frowning. "Well, Draco told me I was his first kiss..."

"What?" Ron gaped.

"...and then when I tried to approach him again, he sort of shoved me off," Harry went on, ignoring Ron. "But I don't see why –"

"That's it! That's the turning point!" Hermione exclaimed. "With the Bond gone, he was able to think rationally, and he started getting afraid of what all of this meant. Has it been like that, lately?"

Harry suddenly realised she was right. "Yeah. He's been frightened of what's ahead. Yesterday he was being a prick about my Auror training."

"Because he didn't know how it'd be when you guys had to separate!" Ron exclaimed, finally making a useful contribution. "Blimey, Hermione, you might be right!"

"I  _am_  right," Hermione replied smugly.

"Just because he's able to think –"

"Harry, think about it more carefully," Hermione said. "I'm guessing things between you after that kiss have been less...umm...lust-based and more tender."

Harry nodded. "Yeah...well, I don't know. We've done some stuff –"

"Too much information!" Ron cut in again.

"Shut  _up_ , Ronald," Hermione snapped. "Okay. Let's use an example. What did you do yesterday night?"

"We..." Harry trailed off. "I took him on a date. But we still shagged, Hermione, I don't get –"

Ron held his face in his hands. "I'm not getting very pleasant images right now."

"On a date? That's so sweet!" Hermione exclaimed, then paused when she saw Harry glaring at her. "Alright, focusing. But hasn't Malfoy been more distant lately? He's thinking about all of this, Harry, and he's worried about how this will end. Without the Bond's interference, both of you are able to see an end in sight. Do you understand now?"

"Look, that's a brilliant explanation and all that," Harry said, "but that doesn't explain why I'm still feeling like I'm missing something!"

"Oh, Harry," Hermione sighed. "Of course you feel that way. You just  _miss_ him."

Harry stared at her for a moment. "What?"

"Wait, it makes sense," Ron said suddenly. "Think about it, mate."

"Think about what?"

Hermione spoke again. "You've spent a few months exclusively in Malfoy's immediate presence. If anyone had to separate from someone they've spent a long time with after learning to enjoy their company, it's only reasonable that they'll feel a little lost without that person."

The puzzle pieces were fitting together in Harry's head. It made sense. He just missed him – that was why he wasn't empty anymore – the Bond was gone, and he missed Draco. It was all so surreal.

"You're right," he said at last. "I understand now."

"But Harry, there's another thing you should probably know," Hermione said.

"What's that?"

"Malfoy's extremely intelligent," she stated. "As soon as you left, he probably started to wonder why he wasn't experiencing the exact same emptiness as before, and he would have probably figured it out. He's going to think that because the Bond is gone, you don't feel the same way anymore."

"Or maybe he's the one who doesn't," Harry muttered bitterly.

"Harry, you've gone two weeks after the Bond broke," Hermione said. "If he didn't feel the same, he would've left already. It's clear you both still love each other."

"Whoa," Harry said, holding his hands up. "Love is a very strong word."

Hermione made a sound with her tongue. "Then replace it with something till you're ready to use it!"

Harry stared at her for a moment, trying to process all the information.

"Well? What are you waiting for?" she snapped. "Hurry up and tell him you still...whatever him before he bails out!"

Harry leaped to his feet. "Right. Right!" He turned to Ron and Hermione. "But he's at the apothecary now. I'll cause a scene."

"Cause a scene or lose him, mate," said Ron, and Hermione glanced at him.

"That was actually a good statement."

"Always the tone of surprise," Ron muttered. "Look, if it makes it better, we'll go with you. Besides, there's still a chance he hasn't realised the bond has broken."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "No, there isn't. The idiot's too bright for his own good. That head of his does way too much thinking. But Ron's right, Harry. We'll go with you."

"Thanks," Harry said. "Meet you there." He closed his eyes and Apparated, hoping to Merlin that he wasn't too late.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

When Harry appeared outside the shop a few seconds before Ron and Hermione, he pushed his way straight inside, searching for Draco. Luckily, he was standing at the counter, and he didn't have any customers with him – there were only two or three scattered around the shop today.

"Draco," Harry said, walking up to him. Just seeing him restored some of the feeling he had been missing throughout the day. Draco glanced up, and Harry saw something there that he didn't want to see – a mask. There was a mask of indifference over him. "There's something I have to tell you. It's important, and it's about –"

"The Bond, I know," Draco replied, leaning casually against the counter. "It's broken; I'm aware of that. I'm not certain how that happened, but you can be assured that I'll move out tonight."

Harry gritted his teeth – why was Draco such an idiot? For someone so bloody intelligent, he sure was stupid. "No, I don't want you to –"

"It's fine, Potter. I understand. You don't have to pretend –"

Harry grabbed one of Draco's hands. "No, you're not listening to me," he said desperately. "Draco –"

Draco wrenched his hand away and Harry felt as if someone had stabbed him in the chest. Why was he making this so difficult? Behind him, the door swung open, admitting Hermione and Ron, who kept their distance but watched the pair of them. Draco's eyes flicked to them, hardened, and averted back to him. "Forget it, Potter. I'm not some damsel in distress. I don't need you to reassure me. I don't even care." He pulled his hand away once more and turned to enter the storeroom.

Frustrated, Harry shouted, "You know what you are? You're fucking  _scared_."

Several heads turned their way and a hush fell over the few present customers. Harry would've recognised them, had he paid attention – these were their regulars, the ones who always came for prescriptions every other day or the ones who ran their own smaller potion businesses, or those tutoring the subject. Hermione and Ron were the only odd ones out among them, and Hermione was chewing her lip anxiously while Ron muttered something about explosions.

Draco turned back to face Harry, very slowly, a dangerous flash in his eyes. "Excuse me?" he whispered, the kind of murmur that was a prelude to war.

"You're scared!" Harry repeated. "You're scared to let me in! You play it off like you're some confident, arrogant piece of shit, but inside you're just too scared to admit the truth!"

Mr. Mulpepper had come out of a side door and was watching them with his arms folded. For a second, Harry thought he was going to ask them to leave the shop, but he leaned against the wall and watched, his eyes twinkling slightly although his countenance remained serious.

"And what  _is_  that truth, Potter?" Draco asked, his voice still frighteningly quiet in comparison with Harry's yelling. "Is it really the truth? Or is it just what you want to believe?"

Harry stared at him in disbelief for a moment. "Are you serious? You're just going to pretend you don't care?" he questioned, his voice growing softer as well, but more in weariness than anything else. "Why are you so afraid of what's going to make you happy? Why are you so terrified of anything that even hints at giving you the happiness you've earned?"

Draco sighed, looking just as deflated as Harry felt, or worse. He leaned his hands against the counter, his head staring down at it. "You know what?" he breathed. "Fine, I'm scared." He looked up, and Harry saw that he looked exhausted. Before Harry could go to him, he spoke again. "Fucking terrified, in fact." He laughed. "And you know why, Harry?"

Harry inhaled sharply when Draco used his first name. He wasn't sure if it was a good sign or a bad one. "Why?" he murmured.

"Because this whole time," Draco murmured, "this whole  _fucking_ time, I thought it was just the Bond that made me feel this way. But now I'm not so sure, and  _that_ 's what scares me, Harry. What if it's not the Bond? What if it's me?"

The shop was deadly quiet. Hermione's hand flew to cover her mouth. Ron, who had subconsciously taken a few steps back during the duration of the argument, was standing rigidly still in shock. Mr. Mulpepper was smiling, and the customers were catching each other's eyes in disbelief. Harry, on the other hand, was suddenly feeling rather light.

"You  _idiot_ ," he grinned, closing the distance between them quickly. "That's what I came here to tell you. I feel that way, too."

Before Draco could respond, and not even caring who was watching, Harry took Draco's face in his hands and kissed him.

A few seconds passed in silence, and then the customers present began to clap. Hermione and Ron were sighing in relief, and Mr. Mulpepper looked as if he had quite expected this the whole time. A customer in the back yelled, "It's about bloody time!", and someone responded, "I know! I've been watching them dancing around it for  _months_!"

But Harry and Draco heard none of this, as they were both quite happily oblivious to all that rubbish, thank you very much.

When they eventually broke apart, Harry was smiling like a fool, and he could see Draco trying very hard not to, which had to be fixed immediately.

"I hate you," Harry muttered. "You know that?"

Finally,  _finally_ , Draco smiled. "The feeling's mutual."

Before Harry could think of a response, the door swung open, and a hush fell over the apothecary once more, all eyes trained on the entrance. Harry and Draco turned to look at the person coming in and instantly stood to attention, although Harry kept one arm around Draco's waist protectively. It was the Minister For Magic himself.

Everyone was completely silent except Mr. Mulpepper, who piped up, "Oh, good evening, Minister! May we help you?"

Kingsley smiled respectfully and shook his head. "No, thank you." He turned to Harry. "Mr. Potter," he said formally, "I left you a memo at the Ministry half an hour ago."

"Really?" Harry grinned. "Must have missed it."

Kingsley arched an eyebrow disbelievingly, his eyes travelling over the occupants of the shop. "I requested to see you in my office. I suggest we finish up what business must be taken care of now. If you would follow me?"

Harry reluctantly released Draco and started to follow him.

"Mr. Malfoy, as well," Kingsley added.

Draco stepped forward. Harry reached out and took his hand. If Kingsley noticed, he did not comment.

"We will Apparate from here," Kingsley smiled. "I will see all of you there in five seconds. Altogether now, one, two –"

Harry and Draco turned in unison and disappeared.

.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.

Draco felt slightly disoriented as they appeared in Kingsley's office. Perhaps it was the fact that he was still exhausted from spending the day away from Harry, or perhaps it was that he was simply still light-headed from the kiss Harry had given him. Either way, he stumbled slightly as the opulent office came spiralling into view. Harry was still holding his hand.

Kingsley was already standing regally in front of them. "We're all here? Very good. But what I wanted to show you is not in this office. If you will follow me, gentlemen..." He led the way out of the room. Draco and Harry exchanged a glance and rushed after him.

They entered the lift and Kingsley hit the button with the number 9 on it. Draco frowned. That was the Department of Mysteries. He glanced at Harry to see if he had a reaction – it was where his godfather had died in battle, after all. Harry looked mostly curious, and smiled briefly at Draco when he saw him looking. For some reason, it reassured Draco sufficiently. When had they learned to communicate without words?

They exited the lift and followed Kingsley into the department. Draco wondered how many other civilians had been given the privilege of striding right into it, and with permission at that. Kingsley walked fast and Draco and Harry strode briskly to keep up, not willing to get lost in the labyrinth of turnings.

Finally, they came to a halt outside a certain door. Kingsley waved his wand in front of it in a series of complicated movements that Draco didn't even bother to memorise. After several minutes, the door clicked open, and Kingsley stepped back to allow them in first.

Draco and Harry walked into the room slowly, still holding hands, not sure what lay ahead of them. It was a simple room, dimly lit, its walls dark and giving the illusion of an endless expanse of blackness. There was a glass case set right in the middle of the room. When Kingsley stepped in and closed the door behind them, it, too, took up the appearance of empty space.

"Don't worry," Kingsley assured them. "I know the way out."

Harry was tugging Draco's arm forward. He followed as Harry led him towards the glass casing. Within the Charmed enclosure was a thin object resting on a platform, and it looked awfully like...

Draco's jaw dropped in shock.

"The Elder Wand," Kingsley said gravely. "A Ministry official stumbled upon half of its splintered remains after the Battle of Hogwarts, and we scoured the mountains for the rest. It was vital that we restore it to its original condition. Perhaps it isn't perfect, but it's all we can do at this point."

Draco stared at it in awe – the most powerful wand in the world.

"There has only been one other case of Wand Bondage by the Elder Wand in history," Kingsley said quietly.

"Arcus and Livius," Draco murmured.

"Yes," Kingsley confirmed. "You've done your research." He cleared his throat and went on, "If at any point in your lives, either of you find yourselves doubting whether your romance is genuine, or if it was forced by the Elder Wand's superior powers, remember this." He turned to face them. "Arcus and Livius were forced together, yes, and they were rivals as you were, yes. However, neither of them had any genuine feelings for each other. The only reason Gregorovitch was never able to confirm who the Master of the Wand was before him was because he simply recovered it from their home." He waited for a moment, then said, "Arcus and Livius killed each other."

Draco stared at him, dumbfounded.

"Surprising, no?" Kingsley said. "They were Bound, and yet they couldn't bring themselves to develop genuine feelings for the other. They could not fathom going through the stages – each time they did, they hated themselves for it; they were disgusted. Arcus snapped first – he decided that he couldn't live any longer and decided to murder Livius. Livius, however, knew what he was planning and vowed to kill him first. They duelled. Neither survived. They did not care for each other; only for their own selves. Livius did not try to reason with him – they both wanted the other dead." Kingsley gestured to the Elder Wand. "An object like this can Bind you together, perhaps, but it cannot create love. What you feel for each other is genuine – the Wand only helped to make you see that."

Harry squeezed Draco's hand. Draco looked up at the Minister. He understood that this had been for his benefit, because every single person who knew Harry would know that he didn't doubt his own feelings.

"Thank you, sir," he said.

"Not a word of this goes to anyone," Kingsley reminded them. "That is all the gratitude I require."

Draco and Harry nodded. Kingsley led the way out of the room. When they reached the elevator, Kingsley pressed the button that would lead them to the main lobby.

"Harry, are you certain that you want to be an Auror?" Kingsley asked.

Draco watched as Harry nodded. "One hundred percent."

Kingsley smiled. "Very well."

Draco pondered this. He knew of Harry's hopes and dreams, but he wasn't sure if Harry knew what they would entail – the hero status would be back, and despite all he had said to rile Harry up before, he wasn't sure if Harry liked being the hero. He seemed to lack the appearance of animated iron and shining golden light that most of those who claimed to be heroes aspired to achieve. To Draco, Harry was neither a victim nor a victor, but a man driven by his own innate and insufferable decency.

But at the same time, Harry was a man who Draco believed in, and whom he cared about. And perhaps, really, that was all that mattered.

"It'll be swarming with reporters out there," Kingsley informed them. "I think you gave everyone quite an eyeful at the apothecary. I don't believe even my presence will hold them off. Can you handle them?"

Harry glanced at Draco confidently. "We'll manage."

Kingsley laughed. "Very well. Good luck."

The lift chimed, signalling their arrival. Harry turned to Draco and reached out to hold his hand. Draco didn't hesitate to take it.

"Ready?" Harry asked.

Draco took one look at him and smiled. Harry was nervous, he could tell, but so was he. Taking a deep breath, he smirked as arrogantly as he could and nodded.

"Ready."

_Finite_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might write a sequel for this at some point in time. What do you think?
> 
> Feedback and comments are much appreciated, and thank you to everyone who has bookmarked, commented and left kudos on this work!


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